king lace bobbins all
the week for a handful of _soldi_ that wouldn't buy one macaroni!"

"Peace, then, with thy babble!"

"See, then, the holy water is quite safe; I saw our padre cross himself
by that first basin. Thou hast done well,--_hein_ Luigi,--to bring me
from Burano, if there are _no_ fish to-morrow at the Ave Maria; for now
we can sleep in peace! They told such tales of I Gesuiti, one thought
the devils were having a holiday--Santa Maria!"

"The women are worse for chattering," Luigi retorts, with a forcible
imprecation. "Here cometh the Consultore--hold thy tongue."

"No, no, Luigi; it is only a frate from the Servi; Fra Paolo is a great
man, with a robe like the Serenissimo; he might wear a crown if he
liked! Ah, to be great like that!"

But Fra Paolo and his secretary wore the grave garb of their order, to
the great disappointment of the younger women, who had been attracted by
the expectation of some pomp.

"Word hath reached the Contarini secretly from Rome," said one senator
to another, as the Consultore passed them, "that they have found
themselves a new diversion before the palace of the Vatican, and that
some of our great ones here are burned in effigy to instruct the
populace. A pile of Fra Paolo's writings doth light the funeral pyre;
and all that he hath written or _may hereafter write_ is placed upon the
Index."

"_Davvero_! his words would make me wrathful if I held the views of his
Holiness, who may well fear the incontrovertibility of his wit. But our
Consultore looketh a simple man to have been shown such honor!"

"He beareth honors bravely," the other answered, with due appreciation
of the humor; "but lately, when the master Galileo was before the Senate
with his telescope, he had a pretty tale of Gian Penelli and Ghetaldo,
wherewith in Padua Fra Paolo hath won the title of 'the miracle of the
century.'"

"I heard it not; some commission held me at the arsenal; San Marco be
thanked that it is over!"

"Ebbene, old Penelli--gouty so that he can scarce move--hath a visit
from our great mathematician Ghetaldo, who findeth with our magnificent
patron of letters a friar to whom Penelli showeth such honor--limping to
the door with him, as if he were a prince--that Ghetaldo, wrathful at
this foolish waste over a friar, asketh his name with scorn. And is not
better pleased when Penelli telleth that Fra Paolo is the 'miracle of
the age in every science.' 'So, I will prove it,' saith Penell