be real enough, and he would not
mar her delight by undeceiving her. Later, since she was wretched at
home with her scolding mother and a brutal step-father, and there were
dangers in allowing her to go on waylaying him in streets when too long
a period elapsed between his visits to her, he quietly took her away and
established her in a small house on the outskirts of the city, with the
deaf, discreet old Monna Lisa as her servant and companion.

Neither this nor the darker secret of his treachery to his adoptive
father cast any cloud over his habitual cheerfulness. His love for
Romola was a higher and deeper passion than anything he felt for the
child-like, submissive little Tessa, and when she told him frankly of
her brother's warning vision, he set himself to convince her it was the
mere nightmare of a diseased imagination, and the perfect love and trust
she had for him made the task easy.

For a while after their marriage she was ideally happy; she was not even
separated from her father, for Tito came to live with them, and was to
Bardo, in his scholastic labours, all that he had wished his own son to
be. Then came the first cloud.

On November 17, 1494, more than eighteen months after the marriage of
Tito and Romola, the King of France marched his army into Florence on
his way to take possession of Naples and impose peace on the warring
little states into which Italy was divided. There were those in Florence
who were prepared to welcome the invaders, but the majority, the common
people in particular, resented their coming.

With the soldiery came three wretched prisoners; they were led in ropes
by their captors, and with blows from knotted cords were stimulated to
beg. Two, as they passed, held out their hands, crying piteously, "For
the love of God and the Holy Madonna, give us something towards our
ransom!"

But the third remained obstinately silent. He was old, white-haired,
emaciated, with a thick-set figure that seemed to express energy in
spite of age; yet there was something fitful in his eyes.

This sight was witnessed by the Florentines with growing exasperation,
and presently from jeering at the French soldiers and hustling them,
they became bent upon rescuing this third prisoner from his tormentors;
one venturesome youth suddenly dashed in, cut the old man's bonds and
urged him to run; and the next moment he had plunged into the crowd,
which closed behind him and hampered the pursuit.

With one