"
The first speaker turned on him contentiously.
"Do I understand you are for this new charter, then?" he asked.
"No, no," said the other. "Better hot polenta than a cold ortolan.
Things are none too good as they are, but I never care to taste first of
a new dish. And in this case I don't fancy the cook."
"Ah, that's it," said the soft man. "it's too much like the apothecary's
wife mixing his drugs for him. Men of Roman lineage want no women to
govern them!" He puffed himself out and thrust a hand in his bosom.
"Besides, gentlemen," he added, dropping his voice and glancing
cautiously about the room, "the saints are my witness I'm not
superstitious--but frankly, now, I don't much fancy this business of the
Virgin's crown."
"What do you mean?" asked a lean visionary-looking youth who had been
drinking and listening.
"Why, sir, I needn't say I'm the last man in Pianura to listen to
women's tattle; but my wife had it straight from Cino the barber, whose
sister is portress of the Benedictines, that, two days since, one of the
nuns foretold the whole business, precisely as it happened--and what's
more, many that were in the Church this morning will tell you that they
distinctly saw the blessed image raise both arms and tear the crown from
her head."
"H'm," said the young man flippantly, "what became of the Bambino
meanwhile, I wonder?"
The scribe shrugged his shoulders. "We all know," said he, "that Cino
the barber lies like a christened Jew; but I'm not surprised the thing
was known in advance, for I make no doubt the priests pulled the wires
that brought down the crown.
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