whisperings arose, little by little, among the spectators, then some bold
spirits ventured a jest or two upon the fattest or the baldest of the
townsmen, and at last the boldest of the lazzaroni slipped between the
soldiers' legs to collect the wax that was running down from the lighted
tapers.

After the craftsmen, the religious orders marched past, from the
Dominicans to the Carthusians, from the Carmelites to the Capuchins. They
advanced slowly, their eyes cast down, their step austere, their hands on
their hearts; some faces were rubicund and shining, with large
cheek-hones and rounded chins, herculean heads upon bullnecks; some, thin
and livid, with cheeks hollowed by suffering and penitence, and with the
look of living ghosts; in short, here were the two sides of monastic
life.

At this moment, Nunziata and Gelsomina, two charming damsels, taking
advantage of an old corporal's politeness, pushed forward their pretty
heads into the first rank. The break in the line was conspicuous; but
the sly warrior seemed just a little lax in the matter of discipline.

"Oh, there is Father Bruno!" said Gelsomina suddenly. "Good-day, Father
Bruno."

"Hush, cousin! People do not talk to the procession."

"How absurd! He is my confessor. May I not say good-morning to my
confessor?"

"Silence, chatterboxes!"