e always there? In those long months while vengeance
had lain in prison, baseness had perhaps become forgetful and secure.
The knife had been bought with the traitor's own money. That was just.
Before he took the money, he had felt what he should do with it--buy a
weapon. Yes, and if possible, food too; food to nourish the arm that
would grasp the weapon, food to nourish the body which was the temple of
vengeance. When he had had enough bread, he should be able to think and
act--to think first how he could hide himself, lest Tito should have him
dragged away again.

With that idea of hiding in his mind, Baldassarre turned up the
narrowest streets, bought himself some meat and bread, and sat down
under the first loggia to eat. The bells that swung out louder and
louder peals of joy, laying hold of him and making him vibrate along
with all the air, seemed to him simply part of that strong world which
was against him.

Romola had watched Baldassarre until he had disappeared round the
turning into the Piazza de' Mozzi, half feeling that his departure was a
relief, half reproaching herself for not seeking with more decision to
know the truth about him, for not assuring herself whether there were
any guiltless misery in his lot which she was not helpless to relieve.
Yet what could she have done if the truth had proved to be the burden of
some painful secret about her husband, in addition to the anxieties that
already weighed upon her? Surely a wife was permitted to desire
ignorance of a husband's wrong-doing, since she alone must not protest
and warn men against him. But that thought stirred too many intricate
fibres of feeling to be pursued now in her weariness. It was a time to
rejoice, since help had come to Florence; and she turned into the court
to tell the good news to her patients on their straw beds.

She closed the door after her, lest the bells should drown her voice,
and then throwing the black drapery from her head, that the women might
see her better, she stood in the midst and told them that corn was
coming, and that the bells were ringing for gladness at the news. They
all sat up to listen, while the children trotted or crawled towards her,
and pulled her black skirts, as if they were impatient at being all that
long way off her face. She yielded to them, weary as she was, and sat
down on the straw, while the little pale things peeped into her basket
and pulled her hair down, and the feeble voices a