"What change will it make in my life, Scozzone?" said Benvenuto gravely. "You see yonder candle, whose pale flame but feebly lights this great room where we are: I place an extinguisher over it, and now it is quite dark. Marriage would do the same to my life. Light the candle again, Scozzone: I detest the darkness." "I understand," cried Scozzone volubly, bursting into tears, "you bear too illustrious a name to give to a poor girl, a nobody, who has given you her heart and her life, all that she had to give, and is ready to suffer everything for you, who lives only in your life, who loves only you--" "I know it, Scozzone, and I assure you that I am as grateful as possible." "Who has gladly done her best to enliven your solitude, who, knowing your jealous disposition, never looks at the cavalcades of handsome archers and sergeants, who has always closed her ears to the soft words which she has not failed to hear, nevertheless, even here." "Even here?" rejoined Benvenuto. "Yes, here, even here, do you understand?" "Scozzone," cried Benvenuto, "it's not one of my comrades, I trust, who has dared so to insult his master!" "He would marry me if I would let him," continued Scozzone, attributing Cellini's wrath to a rejuvenescence of his love for her. "Scozzone, tell me the insolent varlet's name. It's not Ascanio, I hope." "There is a man who has said to me more than a hundred times, 'Catherine, the master abuses you; he will never marry you, sweet and pretty as you are; he is too proud for that. Oh! if he loved you as I love you, or if you would love me as you love him!'" "Give me his name, the traitor's name!" cried Benvenuto. "But I simply would not listen to him," continued Scozzone, enchanted at the success of her stratagem; "on the contrary, all his soft words were wasted, and I threatened to tell you all if he kept on. I loved only you. I was blind, and the gallant got nothing by his fine speeches and his languishing looks. Oh, put on your indifferent air, and pretend not to believe me! it is all true, none the less." "I do not believe you, Scozzone," said Benvenuto, who saw that, if he desired to know his rival's name, he must employ a very different method from any he had hitherto attempted. "What, you don't believe me?" "No." "You think that I am lying?" "I think that you are mistaken." "In your opinion, then, it's not possible for any one to love me?" "I don't say that." "But you think it?" Benvenuto smiled, for he saw that he had found a way to make Catherine speak. "But there is some one who loves me, and that's the truth," continued Scozzone. Benvenuto made another gesture indicating incredulity. "He loves me more than you ever loved me, more than you ever will love me, monsieur, do you understand?" Benvenuto began to laugh heartily. "I am very curious to know who this gallant Médor is," he said. "His name is not Médor," retorted Catherine. "What then,--madis?" "Nor Amadis. His name is--" "Galaor?"