an of the noblest aspect on a chair raised atop of their
shoulders, where he sat as on a throne, covered with a purple cloak,
his head adorned with a doctor's hat, from beneath which white silver
locks hung forth, while a long white beard flowed down majestically
over his black velvet doublet. Beside him came a fool with bells and
in a motley dress, jumping about, and striving by blows and by jests
to make way for the train through the people and the line of mourners:
but on a sign from the venerable old man the students lowered his
chair; he descended, and approacht the weeping parents, much moved and
with a solemn demeanour.

"Forgive me," said he mournfully and with a tear in his eye, "that
this wild tumult thus breaks in upon your burial rites, which grieve
and shock me to the heart. I am just come back at length from my
journey; my scholars wisht to celebrate my enterance by their joy; I
yielded to their entreaties and preparations; and I now find ... how?
your Crescentia, that fairest emblem of all loveliness and virtue,
here before you in her coffin. And all around there is this dark pomp
and these forms of sorrow, accompanying her with tears and the heart's
woe to her place of rest."

He beckoned to his companions, and spake a few words. All had long
since become quiet and silent, and most of them now withdrew, that
they might not interrupt the funeral.

Then the mother came nearer tottering, and sank down before the form
of the old man, while she embraced his knee in convulsive grief. "Ah!
why were you not here?" she cried despairingly; "your art, your
knowledge would have saved her. O Pietro! Pietro! you, the friend of
our house! how could you thus let your darling, the apple of your eye,
perish? But come! Awaken her even now! Pour into her even now one of
those wonderworking elixirs which you know how to compound; and in
return take all that we possess, so she be but again here, walking
about among us and talking to us."

"Let not despair guide your tongue," answered Pietro: "the Lord had
lent her to you; he has demanded her back from you; let not man
presume to arrest the arm of his wise counsels. Who are we, that we
should murmur against him? Shall the child of the dust, that is
scattered to nought by the wind, puff forth its weak breath in anger
against the eternal decrees? No, my dear friends, as Crescentia's
parents, as having loved her and been loved by her, cherish the
feeling of your grief; let n