She spoke with such eagerness, she saw that the count was surprised. This made her blush. At any other time such an expedition as that they were about to make would have been delightful to her for its own sake, Enrica was so shut up within the palace, except on the rare occasions when she accompanied Teresa to mass, or took a formal drive on the ramparts at sundown with her aunt. But now she was full of anxiety about Nobili. They had not met for a week—he had not written to her even. Should she see him in the street? Should she see him from the top of the tower? Perhaps he was at home at that very moment watching her. She gave a furtive glance upward at the stern old palace before her. The thick walls of sun-dried bricks looked cruel; the massive Venetian casements mocked her. The outer blinds shut out all hope. Alas! there was not a chink anywhere. Even the great doors were closed.
"Ah! if Teresa could have warned him that I was coming!"—and she gave a great sigh. "If he only knew that I was here, standing in the very street! Oh, for one glimpse of his dear, bright face!"
Again Enrica sighed, and again she gazed up wistfully at the closed façade.
Meanwhile the cavaliere and Baldassare were engaged in a violent altercation. Baldassare had proposed walking to the church of San Frediano, which, in consideration of the cavaliere's wishes, they were to visit first. "No one would think of driving such a short distance," he insisted. "The sun was not hot, and the streets were all in shade." The cavaliere retorted that "it was too hot for any lady to walk," swung his stick menacingly in the air, called Baldassare "an imbecile," and peremptorily ordered him to call a fiacre. Baldassare turned scarlet in the face, and rudely refused to move.
"He was not a servant," he said. "He would do nothing unless treated like a gentleman."
This was spoken as he hurled what he intended to be a tremendous glance of indignation at the cavaliere. It produced no effect whatever. With an exasperating smile, the cavaliere again desired Baldassare to do as he was bid, or else to go home. The count interposed, a fiacre was called, in which they all seated themselves.
* * * * *
San Frediano, a basilica in the Lombard style, is the most ancient church in Lucca. The mid-day sun now flashed full upon the front, and lighted up the wondrous colors of a mosaic on a gold ground, over the entrance. At one corner of the building a marble campanile, formed by successive tiers of delicate arcades, springs upward into the azure sky. Flocks of gray pigeons circled about the upper gallery (where hang the bells), or rested, cooing softly in the warm air, upon the sculptured cornice bordering the white arches. It was a quiet scene of tranquil beauty, significant of repose in life and of peace in death—the church, with its wide portals, offering an everlasting home to all who sought shelter within its walls.
The cavaliere was so impatient to do the honors that he actually jumped unaided from the carriage.
"This, dear Enrica, is my parish church," he said, as he handed her out, pointing upward to the richly-tinted pile, which the suns of many centuries had dyed of a golden hue. "I know every stone in the building. From a child I have played in this piazza, under these venerable walls. My earliest prayers were said at the altar of the Sacrament within. Here I confessed my youthful sins. Here I received my first communion. Here I hope to lay my bones, when it shall please God to call me."