_Assunta._ You live at San Vivaldo. _Frate._ But when there is sin so pressing I am always ready to be found. You perplex, you puzzle me. Tell me at once how he made you blush. _Assunta._ Well then! _Frate._ Well then! you did not hang back so before him. I lose all patience. _Assunta._ So famous a man!... _Frate._ No excuse in that. _Assunta._ So dear to Padrone.... _Frate._ The more shame for him! _Assunta._ Called me.... _Frate._ And _called_ you, did he! the traitorous swine! _Assunta._ Called me ... _good girl_. _Frate._ Psha! the wenches, I think, are all mad: but few of them in this manner. * * * * * ... Without saying another word, Fra Biagio went forward and opened the bedchamber door, saying briskly: 'Servant! Ser Giovanni! Ser Canonico! most devoted! most obsequious! I venture to incommode you. Thanks to God, Ser Canonico, you are looking well for your years. They tell me you were formerly (who would believe it?) the handsomest man in Christendom, and worked your way glibly, yonder at Avignon. 'Capperi! Ser Giovanni! I never observed that you were sitting bolt-upright in that long-backed armchair, instead of lying abed. Quite in the right. I am rejoiced at such a change for the better. Who advised it?' _Boccaccio._ So many thanks to Fra Biagio! I not only am sitting up, but have taken a draught of fresh air at the window, and every leaf had a little present of sunshine for me. There is one pleasure, Fra Biagio, which I fancy you never have experienced, and I hardly know whether I ought to wish it you; the first sensation of health after a long confinement. _Frate._ Thanks! infinite! I would take any man's word for that, without a wish to try it. Everybody tells me I am exactly what I was a dozen years ago; while, for my part, I see everybody changed: those who ought to be much about my age, even those.... Per Bacco! I told them my thoughts when they had told me theirs; and they were not so agreeable as they used to be in former days. _Boccaccio._ How people hate sincerity! Cospetto! why, Frate! what hast got upon thy toes? Hast killed some Tartar and tucked his bow into one, and torn the crescent from the vizier's tent to make the other match it? Hadst thou fallen in thy mettlesome expedition (and it is a mercy and a miracle thou didst not) those sacrilegious shoes would have impaled thee. _Frate._ It was a mistake in the shoemaker. But no pain or incommodity whatsoever could detain me from paying my duty to Ser Canonico, the first moment I heard of his auspicious arrival, or from offering my congratulations to Ser Giovanni, on the annunciation that he was recovered and looking out of the window. All Tuscany was standing on the watch for it, and the news flew like lightning. By this time it is upon the Danube. And pray, Ser Canonico, how does Madonna Laura do? _Petrarca._ Peace to her gentle spirit! she is departed.