you've had
another piece of good-luck to-day."

"Questionable luck, Niccolo," said Tito, touching him on the shoulder in
a friendly way; "I have got nothing by it yet but being laid hold of and
breathed upon by wool-beaters, when I am as soiled and battered with
riding as a _tabellario_ (letter-carrier) from Bologna."

"Ah! you want a touch of my art, Messer Oratore," said Nello, who had
come forward at the sound of Tito's voice; "your chin, I perceive, has
yesterday's crop upon it. Come, come--consign yourself to the priest of
all the Muses. Sandro, quick with the lather!"

"In truth, Nello, that is just what I most desire at this moment," said
Tito, seating himself; "and that was why I turned my steps towards thy
shop, instead of going home at once, when I had done my business at the
Palazzo."

"Yes, indeed, it is not fitting that you should present yourself to
Madonna Romola with a rusty chin and a tangled _zazzera_. Nothing that
is not dainty ought to approach the Florentine lily; though I see her
constantly going about like a sunbeam amongst the rags that line our
corners--if indeed she is not more like a moonbeam now, for I thought
yesterday, when I met her, that she looked as pale and worn as that
fainting Madonna of Fra Giovanni's. You must see to it, my bel erudito:
she keeps too many fasts and vigils in your absence."

Tito gave a melancholy shrug. "It is too true, Nello. She has been
depriving herself of half her proper food _every_ day during this
famine. But what can I do? Her mind has been set all aflame. A
husband's influence is powerless against the Frate's."

"As every other influence is likely to be, that of the Holy Father
included," said Domenico Cennini, one of the group at the door, who had
turned in with Tito. "I don't know whether you have gathered anything
at Pisa about the way the wind sits at Rome, Melema?"

"Secrets of the council-chamber, Messer Domenico!" said Tito, smiling
and opening his palms in a deprecatory manner. "An envoy must be as
dumb as a father confessor."

"Certainly, certainly," said Cennini. "I ask for no breach of that
rule. Well, my belief is, that if his Holiness were to drive Fra
Girolamo to extremity, the Frate would move heaven and earth to get a
General Council of the Church--ay, and would get it too; and I, for one,
should not be sorry, though I'm no Piagnone."

"With leave of your greater experience, Messer Domenico," said
Macchiavelli, "I mu