That a parvenu, the son of a banker, should live opposite to her, that he should abound in money, which he flings about recklessly, while she can with difficulty eke out the slender rents from the greatly-reduced patrimony of the Guinigi, is more than she can bear.  His popularity and his liberality (and she cannot come to Lucca without hearing of both), even that comely young face of his, which she sees when she passes the club on the way to her afternoon drive on the ramparts, are dire offenses in her eyes.  Whatever Count Nobili does, she (the Marchesa Guinigi) will do the reverse.  He has opened his house for the festival.  Hers shall be closed.  She is thoroughly exceptional, however, in such conduct.  Every one in Lucca save herself, rich and poor, noble and villain, join heart and soul in the national festival.  Every one lays aside on this auspicious day differences of politics, family feuds, and social animosities.  Even enemies join hands and kneel side by side at the same altar.  It is the mediaeval “God’s truce” celebrated in the nineteenth century.

* * * * *

It is now eleven o’clock.  A great deal of sausage and garlic, washed down by new wine and light beer, has been by this time consumed in eating-shops and on street tables; much coffee, liqueurs, cake, and bonbons, inside the palaces.

Suddenly all the church-bells, which have rung out since daybreak like mad, stop; only the deep-toned cathedral-bell booms out from its snowy campanile in half-minute strokes.  There is an instant lull, the din and clatter of the streets cease, the crowd surges, separates, and disappears, the palace windows and balconies empty themselves, the street forms are vacant.  The procession in honor of the Holy Countenance is forming; every one has rushed off to the cathedral.

CHAPTER II.

THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA.

Martino, the cathedral of Lucca, stands on one side of a small piazza behind the principal square.  At the first glance, its venerable aspect, vast proportions, and dignity of outline, do not sufficiently seize upon the imagination; but, as the eye travels over the elaborate facade, formed by successive galleries supported by truncated pillars, these galleries in their turn resting on clustered columns of richest sculpture forming the triple portals—­the fine inlaid work, statues, bass-relief, arabesques of fruit, foliage, and quaint animals—­the dome, and, above all, the campanile—­light and airy as a dream, springing upward on open arches where the sun burns hotly—­the eye comes to understand what a glorious Gothic monument it is.