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Careggi, and he told him the Frate had been sent for yesternight, after the Magnifico had confessed and had the holy sacraments.”

    â€œIt’s likely enough the Frate will tell the people something about it in his sermon this morning; is it not true, Nanni?” said Goro. “What do you think?”

    But Nanni had already turned his back on Goro, and the group was rapidly thinning; some being stirred by the impulse to go and hear “new things” from the Frate (“new things” were the nectar of Florentines); others by the sense that it was time to attend to their private business. In this general movement, Bratti got close to the barber, and said—

    â€œNello, you’ve a ready tongue of your own, and are used to worming secrets out of people when you’ve once got them well lathered. I picked up a stranger this morning as I was coming in from Rovezzano, and I can spell him out no better than I can the letters on that scarf I bought from the French cavalier. It isn’t my wits are at fault,—I want no man to help me tell peas from paternosters,—but when you come to foreign fashions, a fool may happen to know more than a wise man.”

    â€œAy, thou hast the wisdom of Midas, who could turn rags and rusty nails into gold, even as thou dost,” said Nello, “and he had also something of the ass about him. But where is thy bird of strange plumage?”

    Bratti was looking round, with an air of disappointment.

    â€œDiavolo!” he said, with some vexation. “The bird’s flown. It’s true he was hungry, and I forgot him. But we shall find him in the Mercato, within scent of bread and savours, I’ll answer for him.”

    â€œLet us make the round of the Mercato, then,” said Nello.

    â€œIt isn’t his feathers that puzzle me,” continued Bratti, as they pushed their way together. “There isn’t much in the way of cut and cloth on this side the Holy Sepulchre that can puzzle a Florentine.”

    â€œOr frighten him either,” said Nello, “after he has seen an Englander or a German.”

    â€œNo, no,” said Bratti, cordially; “one may never lose sight of the Cupola and yet know the world, I hope. Besides, this stranger’s clothes are good Italian merchandise, and the hose he wears were dyed in Ognissanti before ever they were dyed with salt water, as he says. But the riddle about him is—”

    Here Bratti’s explanation was interrupted by some jostling as they reached one of the entrances of the piazza, and before he could resume it they had caught sight of the enigmatical object they were in search of.

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    5 “Who wants to exchange rags, broken glass, or old iron?”
    6 A walled village.
    7 Arms of the Medici
    8 A votive image of Lorenzo, in wax, hung up in the Church of the Annunziata, supposed to have fallen at the time of his death. Boto is popular Tuscan for Voto.
    9 The phrase used to express the absence of disqualification— i.e., the not being entered as a debtor in the public book—
specchio
.
    10 Burdens, i.e. taxes.
    11 The stone Lion, the emblem of the Republic.

Chapter Two
Breakfast for Love

    After Bratti had joined the knot of talkers, the young stranger, hopeless of learning what was the cause of the general agitation, and not much caring to know what was probably of little interest to any but born Florentines, soon became tired of waiting for Bratti’s escort; and chose to stroll round the piazza, looking out for some vendor of eatables who might happen to have less than the average curiosity about public news. But as if at the suggestion of a sudden thought, he thrust his hand into a purse or wallet that hung at his waist, and explored it again and again with a look of frustration.

    â€œNot an obolus, by Jupiter!” he murmured, in a language which was not Tuscan or even Italian. “I thought I had one poor piece left. I must get my