came from—­those women; and it was hateful to owe them even for a little bread.  So I felt then.  Afterwards—­But you shall hear; only turn away your eyes.  I prayed to the Virgin, but my prayers seemed to get no clear answer. . . .  Then I pulled a staple from the wall, and with the point of it prised out one of the jewels, an amethyst. . . .  I had spoken already to Gioconda.  That evening she brought me one of her dresses, with shoes, stockings, and underskirt; a mirror, too, and brush and comb, with paints, powders, and black stuff for the eye-lashes, all in the same bundle, which she passed up through the floor.  I dressed myself, painted my face, tired my hair, till I looked like even such a woman as Gioconda; and then, letting myself down at dark by a rope made of the sheet I drew from under you, I ran through the streets to the quarter of the merchants.  La Gioconda had forgotten to pack a cloak in the bundle; the night was snowing, with snow underfoot; and I had run past the quays before the fear struck me that, at so late an hour, the jewellers would have closed their shops.  But in the street behind the Dogano I found one open, and the jeweller asked no questions.  It appeared that he was used to such women, and, having examined the stone through his magnifying-glass, he counted me out three hundred livres.

“I ran back, faster than I had come, and climbed to the loft, hand over hand, with the money weighing me down.  It was in my mind to bribe one of the market-women, through Gioconda, to smuggle you out through the North Gate, under the baskets in her cart.  But the day had scarcely broken before Gioconda came (and she had never come yet until evening) with terrible news.  She said that I must count on her no more, for the accursed clericals (as she called them) had made interest with the Genoese Government to clear all the stews, and that she and her sisters by the gateway had orders to be quit of the city within twenty-four hours; in fact her sisters had begun to pack already, and the whole party would drive away, with their belongings, soon after night-fall.  I asked her whither.  ‘To Milan,’ she said; for at Turin the Church was even stronger and more bigoted than in Genoa.

“A new thought came to me then.  I handed down my money to Gioconda, keeping back only a little, and prayed her to go to the woman, her mistress, and bargain with her to carry you out of the city, concealed beneath the furniture.  The girl clapped her hands at the notion, and ran, but in an hour’s time came creeping back in tears.  The woman would have more money—­even threatened to betray us unless I found her five hundred livres in all. . . .

“I borrowed Gioconda’s shawl and sent her away, charging her to return before evening.  Then I loosened another stone from the crown—­a sardonyx—­and again I went out through the streets to the jeweller’s.  It was worse now than by night, for the people stared, and certain men followed me.  I took them for spies at first; but presently my stupid brain cleared, and I guessed for what they mistook me; and then I kept them at their distance, using such tricks as in Brussels I had seen the women use. . . .”