’Why, I can guess.’ ’Canst thou, and still talk of Bona’s penitence? Here’s proof of it—in this foul deed unexpiated. Was it ever meant it should be?’ He raised his arm denunciatory. ’They have used me to justify their abominations; they have made mine innocence a pander to their lusts. Beware! God’s patience nears exhaustion. We wait for Tassino. Will he come? Not while lewd arms imprison and protect him. Talk to me of Bona! Go, child.’ The girl crept back to her former seat. Carlo burst out, low and urgent:— ’Nay, boy, you do the Duchess wrong; now, by Saint Ambrose, I swear you do! She hath not set eyes on Jackanapes since that day—believe it—nor knows, more than another, what’s become of him.’ ’I could enlighten her. Can she be so fickle?’ ’What! Don’t you want her fickle? You make my brain turn.’ ’O Carlo! What can such a woman see in such a man?’ ’God! You have me there. She’s just woman, conforming to the fashions.’ ’Ah, me! the fashions!’ ’Woman’s religion.’ ’She was taught a better. The fashions! Her wedding-gown should suffice her for all.’ ’What! Night and day? But, there, I don’t defend her!’ ’No, indeed. Art thyself a fashion.’ ’I don’t defend her, I say. I’m worn and cast aside too.’ ’Poor fashion! You’ll grace your mistress’ tire-woman next; and after her a kitchen-maid; and last some draggled scarecrow of the streets. O, for shame, for shame!’ ’Go on. Compare me to Tassino next.’ ’Indeed, I see no difference.’ ’A low-born Ferrarese! A greasy upstart! Was carver to the Duke, no better; and oiled his fingers in the dish, and sleeked his hair!’ ’Well, he was made first fashion. The Duchess sets them.’ ’Now, by Saint Ambrose! First fashion! this veal-faced scullion, this fat turnspit promoted to a lap-dog! His fashion was to nurse lusty babies in his eyes!’ ’What nursed thou in thine?’ ’Go to! I’m a numskull, that I know; but to see no more in me!’ ’I speak not for myself.’ ’Why, these women, true, whom we hold so delicate—coarser feeders than ourselves—their tastes a fable. There, you’re right; I’ve no right to talk.’ ’Not yet.’ ’Then, you’re wrong. We’ve parted, I and Beatrice.’ ’Carlo!’ ’Didst think I ’d risk a quarrel with my saint on so small a matter?’ ’Carlo!’ He flew upon the great creature and hugged him. ’My dear, my love! O, I went on so! Why did you let me? O, you give me hope again!’ ’There,’ growled the honest fellow, still a little sulkily. ’’Twas to please myself, not you.’ ’Not me!’ ’Well, if I did, please me by returning.’ Bernardo shook his head. ’And seem to acquiesce in this?’ He signified the girl. ’No seeming,’ said Lanti. ’The Duchess promises to abet you in everything. I was to say so, an I could find thee.’ ’How did you find me?’ ’Let that pass. Will you come?’ ’Will she hold Tassino to his bond?’ ’She’ll try to—I’ll answer for it.’ ’Will she excuse the Countess of Casa Caprona from her duties to her—for your sake, dear?’