Romola

To the ear of Dante, the same streets rang with the shout and clash of fierce battle between rivalfamilies; but in the fifteenth century, they were only noisy with the unhistorical quarrels and broadjests of woolcarders in the cloth-producing quarters of San Martino and Garbo.Under this loggia, in the early morning of the 9th of April 1492, two men had their eyes fixed oneach other: one was stooping slightly, and looking downward with the scrutiny of curiosity; theother, lying on the pavement, was looking upward with the startled gaze of a suddenly-awakeneddreamer.The standing figure was the first to speak. He was a grey-haired, broad-shouldered man, of the typewhich, in Tuscan phrase, is moulded with the fist and polished with the pickaxe; but the selfimportant gravity which had written itself out in the deep lines about his brow and mouth seemedintended to correct any contemptuous inferences from the hasty workmanship which Nature hadbestowed on his exterior. He had deposited a large well-filled bag, made of skins, on the pavement, and before him hung a pedlar's basket, garnished partly with small woman's-ware, such as threadand pins, and partly with fragments of glass, which had probably been taken in exchange for thosecommodities."Young man," he said, pointing to a ring on the finger of the reclining figure, "when your chin ha