d attributing it to the consciousness in him that she had been wounded
in the morning, accepted the effort as an act of penitence, inwardly
aching a little at that sign of growing distance between them--that
there was an offence about which neither of them dared to speak.

The next day Tito remained away from home until late at night. It was a
marked day to Romola, for Piero di Cosimo, stimulated to greater
industry on her behalf by the fear that he might have been the cause of
pain to her in the past week, had sent home her father's portrait. She
had propped it against the back of his old chair, and had been looking
at it for some time, when the door opened behind her, and Bernardo del
Nero came in.

"It is you, godfather! How I wish you had come sooner! it is getting a
little dusk," said Romola, going towards him.

"I have just looked in to tell you the good news, for I know Tito has
not come yet," said Bernardo. "The French king moves off to-morrow: not
before it is high time. There has been another tussle between our
people and his soldiers this morning. But there's a chance now of the
city getting into order once more and trade going on."

"That is joyful," said Romola. "But it is sudden, is it not? Tito
seemed to think yesterday that there was little prospect of the king's
going soon."

"He has been well barked at, that's the reason," said Bernardo, smiling.
"His own generals opened their throats pretty well, and at last our
Signoria sent the mastiff of the city, Fra Girolamo. The Cristianissimo
was frightened at that thunder, and has given the order to move. I'm
afraid there'll be small agreement among us when he's gone, but, at any
rate, all parties are agreed in being glad not to have Florence stifled
with soldiery any longer, and the Frate has barked this time to some
purpose. Ah, what is this?" he added, as Romola, clasping him by the
arm, led him in front of the picture. "Let us see."

He began to unwind his long scarf while she placed a seat for him.

"Don't you want your spectacles, godfather?" said Romola, in anxiety
that he should see just what she saw.

"No, child, no," said Bernardo, uncovering his grey head, as he seated
himself with firm erectness. "For seeing at this distance, my old eyes
are perhaps better than your young ones. Old men's eyes are like old
men's memories; they are strongest for things a long way off."

"It is better than having no portrait," said Romola, apolo