not to be trusted. He is a genius--he may be back on his way to Rome
by this time."

"No, no," answered Trenta, rising and walking toward the door, which
he opened and held in his hand, while he kept his eyes fixed on the
staircase; "Marescotti is disgusted with Rome--with the Parliament,
with the Government--with every thing. He abuses the municipality
because a secret republican committee which he headed, in
correspondence with Paris, has been discovered by the police and
denounced. He had to escape in disguise."

"Well, well, I rejoice to hear it!" broke in the marchesa. "It is a
good Government; let him find a better. Why has he come to Lucca? We
want no _sans-culottes_ here."

"Marescotti declares," continued the cavaliere, "that even now Rome is
still in bondage, and sunk in superstition. He calls it superstition.
He would like to shut up all the churches. He believes in nothing
but poetry and Red republicans. Any kind of Christian belief he calls
superstition."

"Marescotti is quite right," said the marchesa, angrily; she was
determined to contradict the cavaliere. "You are a bigot, Trenta--an
old bigot. You believe every thing a priest tells you. A fine
exhibition we had yesterday of what that comes to! The Holy
Countenance! Do you think any educated person in Lucca believes in
the Holy Countenance? I do not. It is only an excuse for idleness--for
idleness, I say. Priests love idleness; they go into the Church
because they are too idle to work." She raised her voice, and
looked defiantly at Trenta, who stood before her the picture of meek