ttle inclined to humour the people as to
humour any other unreasonable claimants--loving order, like one who by
force of fortune had been made a merchant, and by force of nature had
become a soldier. It was not till he was seen at the entrance of the
piazza that the silence was broken, and then one loud shout of "Capponi,
Capponi! Well done, Capponi!" rang through the piazza.

The simple, resolute man looked round him with grave joy. His
fellow-citizens gave him a great funeral two years later, when he had
died in fight; there were torches carried by all the magistracy, and
torches again, and trains of banners. But it is not known that he felt
any joy in the oration that was delivered in his praise, as the banners
waved over his bier. Let us be glad that he got some thanks and praise
while he lived.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE AVENGER'S SECRET.

It was the first time that Baldassarre had been in the Piazza del Duomo
since his escape. He had a strong desire to hear the remarkable monk
preach again, but he had shrunk from reappearing in the same spot where
he had been seen half naked, with neglected hair, with a rope round his
neck--in the same spot where he had been called a madman. The feeling,
in its freshness, was too strong to be overcome by any trust he had in
the change he had made in his appearance; for when the words "_some
madman, surely_," had fallen from Tito's lips, it was not their baseness
and cruelty only that had made their viper sting--it was Baldassarre's
instantaneous bitter consciousness that he might be unable to prove the
words false. Along with the passionate desire for vengeance which
possessed him had arisen the keen sense that his power of achieving the
vengeance was doubtful. It was as if Tito had been helped by some
diabolical prompter, who had whispered Baldassarre's saddest secret in
the traitor's ear. He was not mad; for he carried within him that
piteous stamp of sanity, the clear consciousness of shattered faculties;
he measured his own feebleness. With the first movement of vindictive
rage awoke a vague caution, like that of a wild beast that is fierce but
feeble--or like that of an insect whose little fragment of earth has
given way, and made it pause in a palsy of distrust. It was this
distrust, this determination to take no step which might betray anything
concerning himself, that had made Baldassarre reject Piero di Cosimo's
friendly advances.

He had been equally cau