their black robes flitting by beneath the shadow of high walls over-topped with orange-trees and cypress and here and there a palm. The people came out of their dim arched doorways, from under their iron lamps, with mass-books in their hands or long rosaries of olive-beads. From some church or monastery whose portals stood open there came a low subdued chorus of Gregorian chaunts swelling softly out over the evening air.
Saturnino neither noted nor paused for any of these things. He, a man of religion always, had for once no heed to the call of vespers, no salutation for the lighted altars. He pressed through the priesthood and the populace alike in haste and with feverish steps.
He still walked lamely, but he went fast, stopping in his course only to ask once or twice his way to the palace of the Count d'Este.
Once a brown-eyed Trasteverina with red laughing mouth heard him ask that, and smiled.
'A handsome youth and open-handed,' she said; 'he lives yonder where you see the statues on the roof; he led a mirthful life last winter, but he did not forget the
