“FATHER, HERE ARE THE TWO FRIENDS I TOLD YOU OF,” SAID ROMOLA
They crossed the court and mounted several flights of stairs, and paused at a door while Romola lifted the latch. Inside was a short passage which brought them to a large room, lofty but dusky, crowded with shelves full of huge books, with busts and statues and pictures, with tables and great carved chairs and dim hangings. Seated near the one narrow window was a man, whose long white hair was partially covered with a black velvet cap, and who was wrapped in a dark, flowing garment that reached to his feet. He looked like a picture the girls had once found in a book, the portrait of some one called Dr. Faustus, though his face was kinder, and his eyes were closed.
“Father, here are the two friends I told you of,” said Romola, as the three young girls advanced.
“I give you welcome, my children,” returned the old man, gravely. “My daughter is going to the other side of Florence with a manuscript of mine that must be delivered into the hand of a scholar there, as she has perhaps told you. Maso, my serving man, will accompany her, but I shall be glad if you too will be of the party, for Florence is a city whose streets are safer the more companions you have.”
The two girls were only too eager to be off into the excitement of the streets from this somewhat sad and stern chamber dominated by the blind old scholar, so they thanked Messer Bardo shyly, bade him good-bye, and made their way out, while Romola bent over her father for an instant to be sure that there was nothing he wanted.
Maso, a smiling old fellow, dressed in a sort of tunic, black, as were most of the garments worn by the Florentines, and carrying in his hand a stout stave, waited for his mistress and her guests at the street door.
“We will cross by the old bridge, Maso,” Romola told him. “And we must waste no time, for these are troublesome times, and my father will not be at ease until we are safe back once more.”
“What can happen to us?” asked Rose.
“One can never tell but that some street fight will break out—Florence is filled with fierce men,” answered Romola, as they set out down the narrow street that ran beside the river.