ing was in its early brightness when Romola was again on her way
to San Marco, having obtained through Fra Salvestro, the evening before,
the promise of an interview with Fra Girolamo in the chapter-house of
the convent. The rigidity with which Savonarola guarded his life from
all the pretexts of calumny made such interviews very rare, and whenever
they were granted, they were kept free from any appearance of mystery.
For this reason the hour chosen was one at which there were likely to be
other visitors in the outer cloisters of San Marco.

She chose to pass through the heart of the city that she might notice
the signs of public feeling. Every loggia, every convenient corner of
the piazza, every shop that made a rendezvous for gossips, was astir
with the excitement of gratuitous debate; a languishing trade tending to
make political discussion all the more vigorous. It was clear that the
parties for and against the death of the conspirators were bent on
making the fullest use of the three days' interval in order to determine
the popular mood. Already handbills were in circulation; some
presenting, in large print, the alternative of justice on the
conspirators or ruin to the Republic; others in equally large print
urging the observance of the law and the granting of the Appeal. Round
these jutting islets of black capitals there were lakes of smaller
characters setting forth arguments less necessary to be read: for it was
an opinion entertained at that time (in the first flush of triumph at
the discovery of printing), that there was no argument more widely
convincing than question-begging phrases in large type.

Romola, however, cared especially to become acquainted with the
arguments in smaller type, and, though obliged to hasten forward, she
looked round anxiously as she went that she might miss no opportunity of
securing copies. For a long way she saw none but such as were in the
hands of eager readers, or else fixed on the walls, from which in some
places the sbirri were tearing them down. But at last, passing behind
San Giovanni with a quickened pace that she might avoid the many
acquaintances who frequented the piazza, she saw Bratti with a stock of
handbills which he appeared to be exchanging for small coin with the
passers-by. She was too familiar with the humble life of Florence for
Bratti to be any stranger to her, and turning towards him she said,
"Have you two sorts of handbills, Bratti? Let me have t