I implore thee, suffer me not to die for love of thee.”  Whereto the damsel forthwith responded:—­“Nay, God grant that it be not rather that I die for love of thee.”  Greatly exhilarated and encouraged, Ricciardo made answer:—­“’Twill never be by default of mine that thou lackest aught that may pleasure thee; but it rests with thee to find the means to save thy life and mine.”  Then said the damsel:—­“Thou seest, Ricciardo, how closely watched I am, insomuch that I see not how ’twere possible for thee to come to me; but if thou seest aught that I may do without dishonour, speak the word, and I will do it.”  Ricciardo was silent a while, pondering many matters:  then, of a sudden, he said:—­“Sweet my Caterina, there is but one way that I can see, to wit, that thou shouldst sleep either on or where thou mightst have access to the terrace by thy father’s garden, where, so I but knew that thou wouldst be there at night, I would without fail contrive to meet thee, albeit ’tis very high.”  “As for my sleeping there,” replied Caterina, “I doubt not that it may be managed, if thou art sure that thou canst join me.”  Ricciardo answered in the affirmative.  Whereupon they exchanged a furtive kiss, and parted.

On the morrow, it being now towards the close of May, the damsel began complaining to her mother that by reason of the excessive heat she had not been able to get any sleep during the night.  “Daughter,” said the lady, “what heat was there?  Nay, there was no heat at all.”  “Had you said, ‘to my thinking,’ mother,” rejoined Caterina, “you would perhaps have said sooth; but you should bethink you how much more heat girls have in them than ladies that are advanced in years.”  “True, my daughter,” returned the lady, “but I cannot order that it shall be hot and cold, as thou perchance wouldst like; we must take the weather as we find it, and as the seasons provide it:  perchance to-night it will be cooler, and thou wilt sleep better.”  “God grant it be so,” said Caterina, “but ’tis not wonted for the nights to grow cooler as the summer comes on.”  “What then,” said the lady, “wouldst thou have me do?” “With your leave and my father’s,” answered Caterina, “I should like to have a little bed made up on the terrace by his room and over his garden, where, hearing the nightingales sing, and being in a much cooler place, I should sleep much better than in your room.”  Whereupon:—­“Daughter, be of good cheer,” said the mother; “I will speak to thy father, and we will do as he shall decide.”  So the lady told Messer Lizio what had passed between her and the damsel; but he, being old and perhaps for that reason a little morose, said:—­“What nightingale is this, to whose chant she would fain sleep?  I will see to it that the cicalas shall yet lull her to sleep.”  Which speech, coming to Caterina’s ears, gave her such offence, that for anger, rather than by reason of the heat, she not only slept not herself that night, but suffered not her mother to sleep, keeping up a perpetual complaint