I own to having been somewhat put about.  “My dear Belviso,” I said, “Virginia is liable to impulse, it may be admitted; but she is never likely to forget what wifely duty involves.  I was not a cruel husband to her, and left her through no fault of my own.  I will answer for her that she will be a good wife.”

“A good wife—­for Francesco the carpenter,” said Belviso.  “Yes, it may be so, though I own that her marriage puzzles me.  But wife to Don Francesco—­nobile Inglese—­never in the world!”

I said, “Belviso, I never asked you to be my servant, as you very well know.  The proposal came from you against my will.  But if my servant you are, I will make free to remind you that I have given you an order, and shall be obliged if you will set about performing it.”  The good lad dropped on one knee, took my hand and kissed it, and turned to obey me without a word.  Ashamed of myself, I patted him on the shoulder in token of forgiveness, and saw the tears spring into his eyes.  Before he could reach the door, Fra Palamone had filled up the entry, panting, holding out a note.

“For the Excellency of Don Francesco,” says he, “just delivered at the door by a young female.”  I took it from him; it was in the hand of Virginia, the hand I myself had guided, the good and docile hand which had formed itself on mine.

I read—­O Heaven, can I say so?  The words, like knives at work, cut themselves deep into the fibres of my heart.

Virginia wrote: 

“Most excellent don Francis,—­

“That cavalcade of his lordship’s, of four horses and two servants, entering this city of Arezzo at three o’clock in the afternoon of to-day, was witnessed by a concourse of people, always eager to see a great gentleman, and to secure some part of his bounty.  Had his lordship lifted his eyes to the windows of the shops and houses of the poor as he passed by, he would have seen Virginia Strozzi at her needlework—­that poor creature whose virtue his lordship was so benevolent as to protect; for which truly gracious act his same poor Virginia must always be grateful.  It would have been a great kindness in his lordship to have allowed one, who ever tried to be faithful and obedient, to kiss his noble hand; and his Virginia cannot doubt but that she might have done so.  His lordship’s nobility of mind and generosity of heart are so well known, that for the very reason of them she has not dared to present herself.  I know what my duty is; I cannot come to you.  I beg him not to seek me; I am going away so soon as I have delivered this letter.  Do not ask me to come, Francis, I cannot, I cannot, I cannot.

“Your Virginia, who tries to be good.”

This letter stunned me.  I sank under it, as under a violent blow.  With me also fell, dashed to the ground, all my honourable resolutions, all my hopes of gaining self-respect.  I will not deny also that I was savagely stung by mortification; for a man is so made that he does not relish a refusal any the more for being aware that he has not too anxiously sought acceptance; but, on the contrary, his self-reproach for that tardiness of his is made more bitter by the rebuff.  He feels that he has deserved it, and is the more deeply wounded.