open portals. The beggars have betaken themselves to their accustomed
seats on the marble steps of the cathedral, San Martin of
Tours, parting his cloak--carved in alt-relief, over the central
entrance--looking down upon them encouragingly. These beggars clink
their metal boxes languidly, or sleep, lying flat on the stones.
A group of women have jammed themselves into a corner between the
cathedral and the hospital adjoining it on that side. They are waiting
to see the company pass out. Two of them standing close together are
talking eagerly.

"My gracious! who would have thought that old witch, the Guinigi,"
whispers Carlotta--Carlotta owned a little mercery-shop in a
side-street running by the palace, right under the tower--to her
gossip Brigitta, an occasional customer for cotton and buttons, "who
would have thought that she--gracious! who would have thought she
dared to shut up her palace the day of the festival? Did you see?"

"Yes, I did," answers Brigitta.

"Curses on her!" hisses out Carlotta, showing her black teeth. "Listen
to me, she will have a great misfortune--mark my words--a great
misfortune soon--the stingy old devil!"

Hearing the organ at that instant, Brigitta kneels on the stones, and
crosses herself; then rises and looks at Carlotta. "St. Nicodemus will
have his revenge, never fear."

Carlotta is still speaking. Brigitta shakes her head prophetically,
again looking at Carlotta, whose deep-sunk eyes are fixed upon her.