“It happened, after some time, however, that though Lisberta’s letters were sent down as usual, yet no one came thither to take them from their verdant envelope. When she drew up the plant, she found them, alas! unopened. At last she began to make inquiries after Uguccione, and learned that many days ago he had vanished, in a manner the most unaccountable, from Milan. Yet every night the unfortunate damsel used to bend the plant down as usual to the terrace, and if she drew it up and found no letter, she always wept bitterly. This was continued so long, that at last, by such continual grief, her heart was broken. After her death and funeral, a lady who had won her confidence made the fatal flower be planted on her grave; and I have often beheld it there, spreading its green shade and fragrance over that lonely and mournful place.” CHAPTER VIII. The Combat with Sir Heerdegen von Lichtenried. During the relation of this story, a deep gloom had gathered always more and more over the countenance of Theobaldo, so that by the time he had got to the end he seemed quite changed; and now, instead of being a careless merry companion, looked like one whose whole hopes are buried in the grave with some beloved object. After a pause he said, “You must forgive me, noble warriors, if I have, by such a narrative, thrown a cloud on this happy meeting, and as it were dimmed the lustre of your bright old Rudisheimer. For the most part, I myself am cheerful enough, and can enjoy a goblet of wine, and the sportive conversation of my companions; only, that the mournful events which I have just related come now and then betwixt me and all pleasure; and, until I have relieved my mind by repeating them, I cannot obtain any rest. This happens, because my relations have so often led me to Lisberta’s grave, and told me so much of her beauty, and her sufferings from the treachery of the stranger knight, that the story has been deeply impressed, even from childhood, on my mind. If this Signor Uguccione should ever fall in my way, he may look to his own safety as he best can; for I could scarcely imagine a greater pleasure, than to stab him to the heart with his own bright sword, and at the same moment to call aloud in his ears, ‘Lisberta, Lisberta!’”