It is the prerogative of signori to ruin
ladies."
I was stabbed more deeply than she knew, and said at once, "It is true
that I was born a gentleman, it is true that I have ruined a lady, but I
repudiate your conclusion with horror. I beg of you to allow me to
stanch your wound."
She smiled. "Perhaps it may not need it. Perhaps I may not desire it.
But try--try." She offered me her cheek, down which a thin stream of
blood had wandered as it would. A ridiculous difficulty presented
itself; I hovered, undecided. "Suck the wound, suck the wound," said the
girl, "we shall not poison each other." I obeyed: the flow of blood
ceased. I knelt down and treated her foot in the same simple fashion.
When I stood up again she thanked me with what seemed shining eyes and
emotion in the voice.
"I don't know what sort of ladies you have ruined," said she, "but you
have a pleasant manner of reparation. The scratch on my cheek smarts,
but not unduly--my foot is as sound as ever it was." She helped me perch
the faggot on my head, and we walked on together. This last generosity
had touched me.
Her name, she told me, was Virginia Strozzi, and her people were very
poor folk of Condoglia. Condoglia was a village on a spur of the
mountains, the property, with the bodies and souls of its inhabitants,
of a great lord, a marchese. She was sixteen years old and had never
tasted meat. Condoglia was but a mile away; it was getting dark.
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