sual; and that slow pace
suited well with the gouty dignity of Messer Bartolommeo Scala, who
graced the occasion by his presence, along with his daughter Alessandra.
It was customary to have very long troops of kindred and friends at the
_sposalizio_, or betrothal, and it had even been found necessary in time
past to limit the number by law to no more than _four hundred_--two
hundred on each side; for since the guests were all feasted after this
initial ceremony, as well as after the _nozze_, or marriage, the very
first stage of matrimony had become a ruinous expense, as that scholarly
Benedict, Leonardo Bruno, complained in his own case. But Bardo, who in
his poverty had kept himself proudly free from any appearance of
claiming the advantages attached to a powerful family name, would have
no invitations given on the strength of mere friendship; and the modest
procession of twenty that followed the _sposi_ were, with three or four
exceptions, friends of Bardo's and Tito's selected on personal grounds.

Bernardo del Nero walked as a vanguard before Bardo, who was led on the
right by Tito, while Romola held her father's other hand. Bardo had
himself been married at Santa Croce, and had insisted on Romola's being
betrothed and married there, rather than in the little church of Santa
Lucia close by their house, because he had a complete mental vision of
the grand church where he hoped that a burial might be granted him among
the Florentines who had deserved well. Happily the way was short and
direct, and lay aloof from the loudest riot of the Carnival, if only
they could return before any dances or shows began in the great piazza
of Santa Croce. The west was red as they passed the bridge, and shed a
mellow light on the pretty procession, which had a touch of solemnity in
the presence of the blind father. But when the ceremony was over, and
Tito and Romola came out on to the broad steps of the church, with the
golden links of destiny on their fingers, the evening had deepened into
struggling starlight, and the servants had their torches lit.

While they came out, a strange dreary chant, as of a _Miserere_, met
their ears, and they saw that at the extreme end of the piazza there
seemed to be a stream of people impelled by something approaching from
the Borgo de' Greci.

"It is one of their masqued processions, I suppose," said Tito, who was
now alone with Romola, while Bernardo took charge of Bardo.

And as he spoke t