retty, loving reproach, and
then he kissed her fondly, stroked her hair, as his manner was, and
seemed not to mind about taking off his mantle yet. Romola quivered
with delight. All the emotions of the day had been preparing in her a
keener sensitiveness to the return of this habitual manner. "It will
come back," she was saying to herself, "the old happiness will perhaps
come back. He is like himself again."

Tito was taking great pains to be like himself; his heart was
palpitating with anxiety.

"If I had expected you so soon," said Romola, as she at last helped him
to take off his wrappings, "I would have had a little festival prepared
to this joyful ringing of the bells. I did not mean to be here in the
library when you came home."

"Never mind, sweet," he said, carelessly. "Do not think about the fire.
Come--come and sit down."

There was a low stool against Tito's chair, and that was Romola's
habitual seat when they were talking together. She rested her arm on
his knee, as she used to do on her father's, and looked up at him while
he spoke. He had never yet noticed the presence of the portrait, and
she had not mentioned it--thinking of it all the more.

"I have been enjoying the clang of the bells for the first time, Tito,"
she began. "I liked being shaken and deafened by them: I fancied I was
something like a Bacchante possessed by a divine rage. Are not the
people looking very joyful to-night?"

"Joyful after a sour and pious fashion," said Tito, with a shrug. "But,
in truth, those who are left behind in Florence have little cause to be
joyful: it seems to me, the most reasonable ground of gladness would be
to have got out of Florence."

Tito had sounded the desired key-note without any trouble, or appearance
of premeditation. He spoke with no emphasis, but he looked grave enough
to make Romola ask rather anxiously--

"Why, Tito? Are there fresh troubles?"

"No need of fresh ones, my Romola. There are three strong parties in
the city, all ready to fly at each other's throats. And if the Frate's
party is strong enough to frighten the other two into silence, as seems
most likely, life will be as pleasant and amusing as a funeral. They
have the plan of a Great Council simmering already; and if they get it,
the man who sings sacred Lauds the loudest will be the most eligible for
office. And besides that, the city will be so drained by the payment of
this great subsidy to the French king, a