On the morrow the lady, as if for pleasure, hied her with another lady to Federigo’s little house, and asked to see him.  ’Twas still, as for some days past, no weather for hawking, and Federigo was in his garden, busy about some small matters which needed to be set right there.  When he heard that Monna Giovanna was at the door, asking to see him, he was not a little surprised and pleased, and hied him to her with all speed.  As soon as she saw him, she came forward to meet him with womanly grace, and having received his respectful salutation, said to him:—­“Good morrow, Federigo,” and continued:—­“I am come to requite thee for what thou hast lost by loving me more than thou shouldst:  which compensation is this, that I and this lady that accompanies me will breakfast with thee without ceremony this morning.”  “Madam,” Federigo replied with all humility, “I mind not ever to have lost aught by loving you, but rather to have been so much profited that, if I ever deserved well in aught, ’twas to your merit that I owed it, and to the love that I bore you.  And of a surety had I still as much to spend as I have spent in the past, I should not prize it so much as this visit you so frankly pay me, come as you are to one who can afford you but a sorry sort of hospitality.”  Which said, with some confusion, he bade her welcome to his house, and then led her into his garden, where, having none else to present to her by way of companion, he said:—­“Madam, as there is none other here, this good woman, wife of this husbandman, will bear you company, while I go to have the table set.”  Now, albeit his poverty was extreme, yet he had not known as yet how sore was the need to which his extravagance had reduced him; but this morning ’twas brought home to him, for that he could find nought wherewith to do honour to the lady, for love of whom he had done the honours of his house to men without number:  wherefore, distressed beyond measure, and inwardly cursing his evil fortune, he sped hither and thither like one beside himself, but never a coin found he, nor yet aught to pledge.  Meanwhile it grew late, and sorely he longed that the lady might not leave his house altogether unhonoured, and yet to crave help of his own husbandman was more than his pride could brook.  In these desperate straits his glance happened to fall on his brave falcon on his perch in his little parlour.  And so, as a last resource, he took him, and finding him plump, deemed that he would make a dish meet for such a lady.  Wherefore, without thinking twice about it, he wrung the bird’s neck, and caused his maid forthwith pluck him and set him on a spit, and roast him carefully; and having still some spotless table linen, he had the table laid therewith, and with a cheerful countenance hied him back to his lady in the garden, and told her that such breakfast as he could give her was ready.  So the lady and her companion rose and came to table, and there, with Federigo, who waited on them most faithfully, ate the brave falcon, knowing not what they ate.