The valet, after releasing his master’s bridle, has run on by a short cut to the church, where, at the door, he comes across Messers Lampugnani and Olgiati lolling arm in arm. They wear _coats and stockings of mail, and short capes of red satin_. Corio wonders to see them there, instead of in their right places among the Duke’s escort. But it is no matter of his. There are some gentlemen will risk a good deal to assert their independence—or insolence. In the meanwhile, the motley crowd gathering, the Duke’s progress is slow. All the better for discussing him and his accompanying magnificence. He rides between the envoys of Ferrara and Mantua, a gorgeous nucleus to a brilliant nebula. This, after all, is more ’filling’ than Nature. Some one likens him, audibly, to the head of a comet, trailing glory in his wake. He turns sharply, with a scowl. ’Uh! Come sta duro!’ mutters the delinquent. ’Like a thunderbolt, rather!’ At length he reaches the church door and dismounts. He throws his reins to a huge Moor, standing ready, and sets his lips. From within burst forth the strains of the choir— ’_Sic transit gloria mundi,_’ Bowing his head, he passes on to his doom. *CHAPTER XXV* ’_That being dead yet speaketh_’ Through the chiming stars, the romp of wind in woods, the gush of spring freshets, the cheery drone of bees; through all happy gales—of innocent frolic, of children’s laughter, of sighing, unharmful passion, of joy and gaiety ungrudging; through the associations of his gentle spirit with these, the things it had loved, whereby, by those who had listened and could not altogether forget, came gradually to be vindicated the truth of his kind religion, Bernardo’s voice, though grown a phantom voice, spoke on and echoed down the ages. Sweet babble at the hill-head, it was yet the progenitor of the booming flood which came to take the world with knowledge—knowledge of its own second redemption through the humanity which is born of Nature. Already Art, life’s nurse and tutor, was, unknown to itself, quickening from the embrace of clouds and sunlight and tender foliage; while, unconscious of the strange destinies in its womb, it was scorning and reviling the little priest who had brought about that union. And, alas! it is always so. Nor profit nor credit are ever to the pioneer who opens out the countries which are to yield his followers both. He perished very soon. Its third night of darkness and starvation saw the passing of that fragile spirit, gentle, innocuous, uncomplaining as it had lived. Frail as a bird that dies of the shock of capture, he broke his heart upon a song.