"She's off," he said, "she's off, that's
plain. Bolted like a coney to the hills. Now, who's our man?"
I struck my breast. "It is I, Fra Palamone. I am her man."
He inspected me for half a moment, as if to judge of the possibility;
but took no further notice of me. He walked to the window and looked
out--up and down the street. "Clean heels," says he, "and she was within
reach of my hand."
"What!" I cried. "It was she who----" I did not finish but rushed at the
door. Belviso, divining my insane purpose, caught me by the coat.
"Stay, Don Francis--let any one go but you." Seeing that I paused
irresolute, he went on to urge me by all that I held dear to do nothing
so foolish. "Do you suppose," he said, "that YOU will find her--knowing
nothing of Arezzo--and she knowing all? Do you think her so light, that,
having borne the first sight of you already without faltering, she will
fall to you at the second? You have taught me wiselier about her out of
your own mouth. Let us question the friar." He turned to Palamone, who
had his mouth open and was scratching in his beard.
The frate said that Virginia herself had delivered the letter into his
hands as he stood taking the air at the inn door. He scoffed at the
notion that he could be mistaken; had he not nearly lost his life for
her already? He described her in terms too luscious to be palatable--a
fine and full wench, he called her, bare-headed, bare-necked, with the
breasts of Hebe.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353