oquent, and Annibale de' Franchi was there
in pompous presidency. One Jew came--Shloumi the Droll, relying on his
ability to wriggle out of the infraction of the ban, and earn a meal
or two by reporting the proceedings to the _fattori_ and the other
dignitaries of the Ghetto, whose human curiosity might be safely
counted upon. Shloumi was rich in devices. Had he not even for months
flaunted a crimson cap in the eye of Christendom, and had he not when
at last brought before the Caporioni, pleaded that this was merely an
ostensive sample of the hats he was selling, his true yellow hat being
unintentionally hidden beneath? But Giuseppe de' Franchi rejoiced at
the sight of him now.

"He is a gossip, he will scatter the seed," he thought.

Late in the afternoon of the next day the preacher was walking in the
Via Lepida, near the Monastery of St. Dominic. There was a touch on
his mantle. He turned. "Miriam!" he cried, shrinking back.

"Why shrinkest thou from me, Joseph?"

"Knowest thou not I am under the ban? Look, is not that a Jew yonder
who regards us?"

"I care not. I have a word to say to thee."

"But thou wilt be accursed."

"I have a word to say to thee."

His eyes lit up. "Ah, thou believest!" he cried exultantly. "Thou hast
found grace."

"Nay, Joseph, that will never be. I love our fathers' faith. Methinks
I have understood it better than thou, though I have not dived like
thee into holy lore. It is by the heart alone that I understand."

"Then why dost thou come? Let us turn down towards the Coliseum. 'Tis
quieter, and less frequented of our brethren."

They left the busy street with its bustle of coaches, and
water-carriers with their asses, and porters, and mounted nobles with
trains of followers, and swash-buckling swordsmen, any of whom might
have insulted Miriam, conspicuous by her beauty and by the square of
yellow cloth, a palm and a half wide, set above her coiffure. They
walked on in silence till they came to the Arch of Titus.
Involuntarily both stopped, for by reason of the Temple candlestick
that figured as spoil in the carving of the Triumph of Titus, no Jew
would pass under it. Titus and his empire had vanished, but the Jew
still hugged his memories and his dreams.

An angry sulphur sunset, streaked with green, hung over the ruined
temples of the ancient gods and the grass-grown fora of the Romans. It
touched with a glow as of blood the highest fragment of the Coliseum
wall, behind wh