_Petrarca._ There is somewhat of reason in this. You strengthen me to proceed with you: I can bear the rest. _Boccaccio._ Guiberto had taken leave of his friend, and had advanced a quarter of a mile, which (as you perceive) is nearly the whole way, on his return to the monastery, when he was overtaken by some peasants who were hastening homeward from Florence. The information he collected from them made him determine to retrace his steps. He entered the room again, and, from the intelligence he had just acquired, gave Amadeo the assurance that Monna Tita must delay her entrance into the convent; for that the abbess had that moment gone down the hill on her way toward Siena to venerate some holy relics, carrying with her three candles, each five feet long, to burn before them; which candles contained many particles of the myrrh presented at the Nativity of our Saviour by the Wise Men of the East. Amadeo breathed freely, and was persuaded by Guiberto to take another cup of old wine, and to eat with him some cold roast kid, which had been offered him for _merenda_. After the agitation of his mind a heavy sleep fell upon the lover, coming almost before Guiberto departed: so heavy indeed that Silvestrina was alarmed. It was her apartment; and she performed the honours of it as well as any lady in Florence could have done. _Petrarca._ I easily believe it: the poor are more attentive than the rich, and the young are more compassionate than the old. _Boccaccio._ O Francesco! what inconsistent creatures are we! _Petrarca._ True, indeed! I now foresee the end. He might have done worse. _Boccaccio._ I think so. _Petrarca._ He almost deserved it. _Boccaccio._ I think that too. _Petrarca._ Wretched mortals! our passions for ever lead us into this, or worse. _Boccaccio._ Ay, truly; much worse generally. _Petrarca._ The very twig on which the flowers grew lately scourges us to the bone in its maturity. _Boccaccio._ Incredible will it be to you, and, by my faith, to me it was hardly credible. Certain, however, is it that Guiberto on his return by sunrise found Amadeo in the arms of sleep. _Petrarca._ Not at all, not at all: the truest lover might suffer and act as he did.