me."

"Ah," said Nello, "he is the dragon that guards the remnant of old
Bardo's gold, which, I fancy, is chiefly that virgin gold that falls
about the fair Romola's head and shoulders; eh, my Apollino?" he added,
patting Tito's head.

Tito had the youthful grace of blushing, but he had also the adroit and
ready speech that prevents a blush from looking like embarrassment. He
replied at once--

"And a very Pactolus it is--a stream with golden ripples. If I were an
alchemist--"

He was saved from the need for further speech by the sudden fortissimo
of drums and trumpets and fifes, bursting into the breadth of the piazza
in a grand storm of sound--a roar, a blast, and a whistling, well
befitting a city famous for its musical instruments, and reducing the
members of the closest group to a state of deaf isolation.

During this interval Nello observed Tito's fingers moving in recognition
of some one in the crowd below, but not seeing the direction of his
glance he failed to detect the object of this greeting--the sweet round
blue-eyed face under a white hood--immediately lost in the narrow border
of heads, where there was a continual eclipse of round contadina cheeks
by the harsh-lined features or bent shoulders of an old spadesman, and
where profiles turned as sharply from north to south as weathercocks
under a shifting wind.

But when it was felt that the show was ended--when the twelve prisoners
released in honour of the day, and the very _barberi_ or race-horses,
with the arms of their owners embroidered on their cloths, had followed
up the Signoria, and been duly consecrated to San Giovanni, and every
one was moving from the window--Nello, whose Florentine curiosity was of
that lively canine sort which thinks no trifle too despicable for
investigation, put his hand on Tito's shoulder and said--

"What acquaintance was that you were making signals to, eh, _giovane
mio_?"

"Some little contadina who probably mistook me for an acquaintance, for
she had honoured me with a greeting."

"Or who wished to begin an acquaintance," said Nello. "But you are
bound for the Via de' Bardi and the feast of the Muses: there is no
counting on you for a frolic, else we might have gone in search of
adventures together in the crowd, and had some pleasant fooling in
honour of San Giovanni. But your high fortune has come on you too soon:
I don't mean the professor's mantle--_that_ is roomy enough to hide a
few stolen chickens,