The two greatest houses of the feud in Pisa had filled the church for that mass.  The first to leave had been the Gherghiotti; who, stopping on the threshold, had fallen back in ranks along each side of the archway:  so that now, in passing outward, the Marotoli had to walk between two files of men whom they hated, and whose fathers had hated theirs.  All the chiefs were there and their whole adherence; and each knew the name of each.  Every man of the Marotoli, as he came forth and saw his foes, laid back his hood and gazed about him, to show the badge upon the close cap that held his hair.  And of the Gherghiotti there were some who tightened their girdles; and some shrilled and threw up their wrists scornfully, as who flies a falcon; for that was the crest of their house.

On the walls within the entry were a number of tall, narrow frescoes, presenting a moral allegory of Peace, which Chiaro had painted that year for the Church.  The Gherghiotti stood with their backs to these frescoes:  and among them Golzo Ninuccio, the youngest noble of the faction, called by the people of Golaghiotta, for his debased life.  This youth had remained for some while talking listlessly to his fellows, though with his sleepy sunken eyes fixed on them who passed:  but now, seeing that no man jostled another, he drew the long silver shoe off his foot, and struck the dust out of it on the cloak of him who was going by, asking him how far the tides rose at Viderza.  And he said so because it was three months since, at that place, the Gherghiotti had beaten the Marotoli to the sands, and held them there while the sea came in; whereby many had been drowned.  And, when he had spoken, at once the whole archway was dazzling with the light of confused swords; and they who had left turned back; and they who were still behind made haste to come forth:  and there was so much blood cast up the walls on a sudden, that it ran in long streams down Chiaro’s paintings.

Chiaro turned himself from the window; for the light felt dry between his lids, and he could not look.  He sat down, and heard the noise of contention driven out of the church-porch and a great way through the streets; and soon there was a deep murmur that heaved and waxed from the other side of the city, where those of both parties were gathering to join in the tumult.

Chiaro sat with his face in his open hands.  Once again he had wished to set his foot on a place that looked green and fertile; and once again it seemed to him that the thin rank mask was about to spread away, and that this time the chill of the water must leave leprosy in his flesh.  The light still swam in his head, and bewildered him at first; but when he knew his thoughts, they were these:—­