Now, the two young men being thus, as I have said, on terms of most familiar friendship, it befell that Tingoccio, being the better able to open his heart to the lady, did so order his demeanour and discourse that he had from her all that he desired.  Nor was his friend’s success hidden from Meuccio; though, much as it vexed him, yet still cherishing the hope of eventually attaining his end, and fearing to give Tingoccio occasion to baulk or hamper him in some way, he feigned to know nought of the matter.  So Tingoccio, more fortunate than his comrade, and rival in love, did with such assiduity till his gossip’s good land that he got thereby a malady, which in the course of some days waxed so grievous that he succumbed thereto, and departed this life.  And on the night of the third day after his decease (perchance because earlier he might not) he made his appearance, according to his promise, in Meuccio’s chamber, and called Meuccio, who was fast asleep, by his name.  Whereupon:—­“Who art thou?” quoth Meuccio, as he awoke. “’Tis I, Tingoccio,” replied he, “come back, in fulfilment of the pledge I gave thee, to give thee tidings of the other world.”  For a while Meuccio saw him not without terror:  then, his courage reviving:—­“Welcome, my brother,” quoth he:  and proceeded to ask him if he were lost.  “Nought is lost but what is irrecoverable,” replied Tingoccio:  “how then should I be here, if I were lost?” “Nay,” quoth then Meuccio; “I mean it not so:  I would know of thee, whether thou art of the number of the souls that are condemned to the penal fire of hell.”  “Why no,” returned Tingoccio, “not just that; but still for the sins that I did I am in most sore and grievous torment.”  Meuccio then questioned Tingoccio in detail of the pains there meted out for each of the sins done here; and Tingoccio enumerated them all.  Whereupon Meuccio asked if there were aught he might do for him here on earth.  Tingoccio answered in the affirmative; to wit, that he might have masses and prayers said and alms-deeds done for him, for that such things were of great service to the souls there.  “That gladly will I,” replied Meuccio; and then, as Tingoccio was about to take his leave, he bethought him of the gossip, and raising his head a little, he said:—­“I mind me, Tingoccio, of the gossip, with whom thou wast wont to lie when thou wast here.  Now what is thy punishment for that?” “My brother,” returned Tingoccio, “as soon as I got down there, I met one that seemed to know all my sins by heart, who bade me betake me to a place, where, while in direst torment I bewept my sins, I found comrades not a few condemned to the same pains; and so, standing there among them, and calling to mind what I had done with the gossip, and foreboding in requital thereof a much greater torment than had yet been allotted me, albeit I was in a great and most vehement flame, I quaked for fear in every part of me.  Which one that was beside me observing:—­’What,’ quoth he, ’hast thou done more than the rest