Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. Monsieur is going inside perhaps?” But Sir John’s eyes were still riveted upon the poster, and his heart was beating with unaccustomed force. Hitherto in the world’s history there had been precursors of this Progress at great intervals, voices that had spoken and ceased, but now it was all coming on together in a rush. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently.
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