over her head, and much tawdry jewelry about her hands and neck.

"What are you two chattering about?" asks Cassandra sharply. "It seems
entertaining. What's the news? I get paid for news at my shop. Tell me
directly."

"Lotta here was only relating to me all about her grandchild," answers
Brigitta, with a whine.--Brigitta was rather in dread of Cassandra,
whose temper was fierce, and who, being strong, knocked people down
occasionally if they offended her.

"Lotta was telling me, too, that she wants fresh stores for her shop,
but all her money is gone to the grandchild in the hospital, who is
ill, very ill!" and Brigitta sighs and turns up the whites of her
eyes.

"Yes, yes," joins in Carlotta, a dismal look upon her shriveled old
face. "Yes--it is just that. All the money gone to the grandchild,
the son of my Beppo--that's the soldier who is with the king's
army.--Alas! all gone; my money, my son, and all."

Here Carlotta affects to groan and wring her hands despairingly.

The mass was now nearly over; many people were already leaving the
cathedral; but the swell of the organs and the sweet tones of voices
still burst forth from time to time. Festive masses are always
long. It might not seem so to the pretty ladies in the boxes, still
perseveringly fanning themselves, nor to the golden youths who
were diverting them; but the prospect of dinner and a siesta was a
temptation stronger than the older portion of the congregation could