Part 41 (2/2)
”News to be paid with hose!” (_novelle da calze_) were the vague answers with which t.i.to met the importunities of the crowd, until he had succeeded in pus.h.i.+ng on his horse to the spot at the meeting of the ways where the Gonfaloniere and the Priors were awaiting him. There he paused, and, bowing low, said--
”Magnificent Signori! I have to deliver to you the joyful news that the galleys from France, laden with corn and men, have arrived safely in the port of Leghorn, by favour of a strong wind, which kept the enemy's fleet at a distance.”
The words had no sooner left t.i.to's lips than they seemed to vibrate up the streets. A great shout rang through the air, and rushed along the river; and then another, and another; and the shouts were heard spreading along the line of the procession towards the Duomo; and then there were fainter answering shouts, like the intermediate plash of distant waves in a great lake whose waters obey one impulse.
For some minutes there was no attempt to speak further: the Signoria themselves lifted up their caps, and stood bare-headed in the presence of a rescue which had come from outside the limit of their own power-- from that region of trust and resignation which has been in all ages called divine.
At last, as the signal was given to move forward, t.i.to said, with a smile--
”I ought to say, that any hose to be bestowed by the Magnificent Signoria in reward of these tidings are due, not to me, but to another man who had ridden hard to bring them, and would have been here in my place if his horse had not broken down just before he reached Signa.
Meo di Sa.s.so will doubtless be here in an hour or two, and may all the more justly claim the glory of the messenger, because he has had the chief labour and has lost the chief delight.”
It was a graceful way of putting a necessary statement, and after a word of reply from the _Proposto_, or spokesman of the Signoria, this dignified extremity of the procession pa.s.sed on, and t.i.to turned his horse's head to follow in its train, while the great bell of the Palazzo Vecchio was already beginning to swing, and give a louder voice to the people's joy in that moment, when t.i.to's attention had ceased to be imperatively directed, it might have been expected that he would look round and recognise Romola; but he was apparently engaged with his cap, which, now the eager people were leading his horse, he was able to seize and place on his head, while his right-hand was still enc.u.mbered by the olive-branch. He had a becoming air of la.s.situde after his exertions; and Romola, instead of making any effort to be recognised by him, threw her black drapery over her head again, and remained perfectly quiet.
Yet she felt almost sure that t.i.to had seen her; he had the power of seeing everything without seeming to see it.
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.
THE VISIBLE MADONNA.
The crowd had no sooner pa.s.sed onward than Romola descended to the street, and hastened to the steps of San Stefano. Cecco had been attracted with the rest towards the Piazza, and she found Balda.s.sarre standing alone against the church-door, with the horn-cup in his hand, waiting for her. There was a striking change in him: the blank, dreamy glance of a half-returned consciousness had given place to a fierceness which, as she advanced and spoke to him, flashed upon her as if she had been its object. It was the glance of caged fury that sees its prey pa.s.sing safe beyond the bars.
Romola started as the glance was turned on her, but her immediate thought was that he had seen t.i.to. And as she felt the look of hatred grating on her, something like a hope arose that this man might be the criminal, and that her husband might not have been guilty towards him.
If she could learn that now, by bringing t.i.to face to face with him, and have her mind set at rest!
”If you will come with me,” she said, ”I can give you shelter and food until you are quite rested and strong. Will you come?”
”Yes,” said Balda.s.sarre, ”I shall be glad to get my strength. I want to get my strength,” he repeated, as if he were muttering to himself, rather than speaking to her.
”Come!” she said, inviting him to walk by her side, and taking the way by the Arno towards the Ponte Rubaconte as the more private road.
”I think you are not a Florentine,” she said, presently, as they turned on to the bridge.
He looked round at her without speaking. His suspicious caution was more strongly upon him than usual, just now that the fog of confusion and oblivion was made denser by bodily feebleness. But she was looking at him too, and there was something in her gentle eyes which at last compelled him to answer her. But he answered cautiously--
”No, I am no Florentine; I am a lonely man.”
She observed his reluctance to speak to her, and dared not question him further, lest he should desire to quit her. As she glanced at him from time to time, her mind was busy with thoughts which quenched the faint hope that there was nothing painful to be revealed about her husband.
If this old man had been in the wrong, where was the cause for dread and secrecy!
They walked on in silence till they reached the entrance into the Via de' Bardi, and Romola noticed that he turned and looked at her with a sudden movement as if some shock had pa.s.sed through him. A few moments after, she paused at the half-open door of the court and turned towards him.
”Ah!” he said, not waiting for her to speak, ”you are his wife.”
”Whose wife?” said Romola.
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