to me beauty is part of the
finished language by which goodness speaks. You know _you_ must have
been a very handsome youth, godfather,"--she looked up with one of her
happy, loving smiles at the stately old man--"you were about as tall as
Tito, and you had very fine eyes; only you looked a little sterner and
prouder, and--"

"And Romola likes to have all the pride to herself?" said Bernardo, not
inaccessible to this pretty coaxing. "However, it is well that in one
way Tito's demands are more modest than those of any Florentine husband
of fitting rank that we should have been likely to find for you; he
wants no dowry."

So it was settled in that way between Messer Bernardo del Nero, Romola,
and Tito. Bardo assented with a wave of the hand when Bernardo told him
that he thought it would be well now to begin to sell property and clear
off debts; being accustomed to think of debts and property as a sort of
thick wood that his imagination never even penetrated, still less got
beyond. And Tito set about winning Messer Bernardo's respect by
inquiring, with his ready faculty, into Florentine money-matters, the
secrets of the _Monti_ or public funds, the values of real property, and
the profits of banking.

"You will soon forget that Tito is not a Florentine, godfather," said
Romola. "See how he is learning everything about Florence."

"It seems to me he is one of the _demoni_, who are of no particular
country, child," said Bernardo, smiling. "His mind is a little too
nimble to be weighted with all the stuff we men carry about in our
hearts."

Romola smiled too, in happy confidence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1. "Quando una donna e grande, ben formata, porta ben sua persona,
siede con una certa grandezza, parla con gravita, ride con modestia, e
finalmente getta quasi un odor di Regina; allora noi diciamo quella
donna pare una maesta, ella ha una maesta."--Firenzuola: _Della Bellezza
delle Donne_.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE DAY OF THE BETROTHAL.

It was the last week of the Carnival, and the streets of Florence were
at their fullest and noisiest: there were the masqued processions,
chanting songs, indispensable now they had once been introduced by
Lorenzo the Magnificent; there was the favourite rigoletto, or round
dance, footed "in piazza" under the blue frosty sky; there were
practical jokes of all sorts, from throwing comfits to throwing stones--
especi