ld be the signal of attack for all its
enemies; on the other, there was a certainty that a sentence of death
and confiscation of property passed on five citizens of distinguished
name, would entail the rancorous hatred of their relatives on all who
were conspicuously instrumental to such a sentence.

The final judgment properly lay with the Eight, who presided over the
administration of criminal justice; and the sentence depended on a
majority of six votes. But the Eight shrank from their onerous
responsibility, and asked in this exceptional case to have it shared by
the Signoria (or the Gonfaloniere and the eight Priors). The Signoria
in its turn shrugged its shoulders, and proposed the appeal to the Great
Council. For, according to a law passed by the earnest persuasion of
Savonarola nearly three years before, whenever a citizen was condemned
to death by the fatal six votes (called the _set fave_ or _six beans_,
beans being in more senses than one the political pulse of Florence), he
had the right of appealing from that sentence to the Great Council.

But in this stage of the business, the friends of the accused resisted
the appeal, determined chiefly by the wish to gain delay; and, in fact,
strict legality required that sentence should have been passed prior to
the appeal. Their resistance prevailed, and a middle course was taken;
the sentence was referred to a large assembly convened on the
seventeenth, consisting of all the higher magistracies, the smaller
council or Senate of Eighty, and a select number of citizens.

On this day Romola, with anxiety heightened by the possibility that
before its close her godfather's fate might be decided, had obtained
leave to see him for the second time, but only in the presence of
witnesses. She had returned to the Via de' Bardi in company with her
cousin Brigida, still ignorant whether the council had come to any
decisive issue; and Monna Brigida had gone out again to await the
momentous news at the house of a friend belonging to one of the
magistracies, that she might bring back authentic tidings as soon as
they were to be had.

Romola had sunk on the first seat in the bright saloon, too much
agitated, too sick at heart, to care about her place, or be conscious of
discordance in the objects that surrounded her. She sat with her back
to the door, resting her head on her hands. It seemed a long while
since Monna Brigida had gone, and Romola was expecting her return. B