while she can with difficulty eke out the slender rents from the
greatly-reduced patrimony of the Guinigi, is more than she can bear.
His popularity and his liberality (and she cannot come to Lucca
without hearing of both), even that comely young face of his, which
she sees when she passes the club on the way to her afternoon drive
on the ramparts, are dire offenses in her eyes. Whatever Count Nobili
does, she (the Marchesa Guinigi) will do the reverse. He has opened
his house for the festival. Hers shall be closed. She is thoroughly
exceptional, however, in such conduct. Every one in Lucca save
herself, rich and poor, noble and villain, join heart and soul in
the national festival. Every one lays aside on this auspicious day
differences of politics, family feuds, and social animosities. Even
enemies join hands and kneel side by side at the same altar. It is the
mediaeval "God's truce" celebrated in the nineteenth century.

* * * * *

It is now eleven o'clock. A great deal of sausage and garlic, washed
down by new wine and light beer, has been by this time consumed in
eating-shops and on street tables; much coffee, _liqueurs_, cake, and
bonbons, inside the palaces.

Suddenly all the church-bells, which have rung out since daybreak like
mad, stop; only the deep-toned cathedral-bell booms out from its snowy
campanile in half-minute strokes. There is an instant lull, the din
and clatter of the streets cease, the crowd surges, separates, and
disappears, the palace windows and balconies empty themselves,
the street forms are vacant. The procession in honor of the Holy
Countenance is forming; every one has rushed off to the cathedral.