ompany and
share the fatigues of the night-watch. Of course no fault could be
found with this, but Goswin looked upon his companion much as a dog
would on a cat which fawned upon him. The German, it is true, had a
very limited intellect, but his natural good sense taught him that the
Italian was full of tricks and artifice.

At first he paid no attention whatever to Guerrazzi, as if to show him
that his presence was a matter of perfect indifference, and he walked
up and down the banks of the Tiber immersed in thought.

But Goswin was not a philosopher, and could not remain for hours at a
time in a revery, so he very soon began to weary of the silence, and
finally approached Guerrazzi.

"A very fine evening!" said the knight, opening the conversation like
one who did not know what to say.

"We are in the month of July, noble sir, and at this season, I think,
the custom ought to be to sleep all day and work at night."

"Sleep all day!--you?" said Goswin; "did I not see you on the square,
haranguing the Romans, and working them up as a baker kneads soft
dough? And if I mistake not, you were at the allied camp before
daybreak? Don't you sleep either day or night?"

"Not when there is anything to be done, my lord; and there will be, as
long as Rome is not entirely in the power of the Emperor!"

"What means that statue on the top of the tower?" asked Goswin,
pointing to the castle.

"Ah! that is a strange story," replied the tailor, laughing. "They used
to call the fort, Adrian's Mausoleum, but ever since an angel lighted
on it, it has been named the tower of Saint Angelo."

"An angel came there? This is a strange story."

"I will tell it to you in a few words. It happened one night while
Gregory the Great occupied the throne of St. Peter, that a terrible
pestilence had broken out in Rome. None knew whence the scourge came,
nor what caused it, but he who was smitten fell dead at once; the very
air was infected, and it is since then that it is customary to say when
a man sneezes: God bless you!--that means: may God preserve you from
the pestilence! Now, when the disease had reached its height, Pope
Gregory ordered a general fast and a procession through the city, to
implore God's pity. Nothing was of any avail, although the physicians
opposed the procession, on the ground that the concourse of so many
persons would necessarily tend to spread the contagion. Gregory,
absorbed in pious meditations, mounted to the summ