Now the damsel, who, as we said before, had fled she knew not whither, allowing her nag to carry her whithersoever he would, strayed so far into the forest that she lost sight of the place where she had entered it, and spent the whole day just as Pietro had done, wandering about the wilderness, pausing from time to time, and weeping, and uttering his name, and bewailing her evil fortune.  At last, seeing that ’twas now the vesper hour and Pietro came not, she struck into a path, which the nag followed, until, after riding some two miles, she espied at some distance a cottage, for which she made with all speed, and found there a good man, well stricken in years, with his wife, who was likewise aged.  Seeing her ride up alone, they said:—­“Daughter, wherefore ridest thou thus alone at this hour in these parts?” Weeping, the damsel made answer that she had lost her companion in the forest, and asked how far might Anagni be from there?  “My daughter,” returned the good man, “this is not the road to Anagni; ’tis more than twelve miles away.”  “And how far off,” inquired the damsel, “are the nearest houses in which one might find lodging for the night?” “There are none so near,” replied the good man, “that thou canst reach them to-day.”  “Then, so please you,” said the damsel, “since go elsewhither I cannot, for God’s sake let me pass the night here with you.”  Whereto the good man made answer:—­“Damsel, welcome art thou to tarry the night with us; but still thou art to know that these parts are infested both by day and by night by bands, which, be they friends or be they foes, are alike ill to meet with, and not seldom do much despite and mischief, and if by misadventure one of these bands should visit us while thou wert here, and marking thy youth and beauty should do thee despite and dishonour, we should be unable to afford thee any succour.  This we would have thee know, that if it should so come to pass, thou mayst not have cause to reproach us.”  The damsel heard not the old man’s words without dismay; but, seeing that the hour was now late, she answered:—­“God, if He be so pleased, will save both you and me from such molestation, and if not, ’tis a much lesser evil to be maltreated by men than to be torn in pieces by the wild beasts in the forest.”  So saying, she dismounted, and entered the cottage, where, having supped with the poor man and his wife on such humble fare as they had, she laid herself in her clothes beside them in their bed.  She slept not, however; for her own evil plight and that of Pietro, for whom she knew not how to augur aught but evil, kept her sighing and weeping all night long.  And towards matins she heard a great noise as of men that marched; so up she got and hied her into a large courtyard that was in rear of the cottage, and part of which was covered with a great heap of hay, which she espying, hid herself therein, that, if the men came there, they might not so readily find her.  Scarce had she done so than the men, who proved to be a strong