The gentlemen said not a little in her honour and praise, averring that the knight ought indeed to hold her dear:  then, as they regarded her more attentively, there were not a few that would have pronounced her to be the very woman that she was, had they not believed that woman to be dead.  But none scanned her so closely as Niccoluccio, who, the knight being withdrawn a little space, could no longer refrain his eager desire to know who she might be, but asked her whether she were of Bologna, or from other parts.  The lady, hearing her husband’s voice, could scarce forbear to answer; but yet, not to disconcert the knight’s plan, she kept silence.  Another asked her if that was her little boy; and yet another, if she were Messer Gentile’s wife, or in any other wise his connection.  To none of whom she vouchsafed an answer.  Then, Messer Gentile coming up:—­“Sir,” quoth one of the guests, “this treasure of yours is goodly indeed; but she seems to be dumb:  is she so?” “Gentlemen,” quoth Messer Gentile, “that she has not as yet spoken is no small evidence of her virtue.”  “Then tell us, you, who she is,” returned the other.  “That,” quoth the knight, “will I right gladly, so you but promise me, that, no matter what I may say, none of you will stir from his place, until I have ended my story.”  All gave the required promise, and when the tables had been cleared, Messer Gentile, being seated beside the lady, thus spoke:—­“Gentlemen, this lady is that loyal and faithful servant, touching whom a brief while ago I propounded to you my question, whom her own folk held none too dear, but cast out into the open street as a thing vile and no longer good for aught, but I took thence, and by my careful tendance wrested from the clutch of death; whom God, regardful of my good will, has changed from the appalling aspect of a corpse to the thing of beauty that you see before you.  But for your fuller understanding of this occurrence, I will briefly explain it to you.”  He then recounted to them in detail all that had happened from his first becoming enamoured of the lady to that very hour whereto they hearkened with no small wonder; after which:—­“And so,” he added, “unless you, and more especially Niccoluccio, are now of another opinion than you were a brief while ago, the lady rightly belongs to me, nor can any man lawfully reclaim her of me.”

None answered, for all were intent to hear what more he would say.  But, while Niccoluccio, and some others that were there, wept for sympathy, Messer Gentile stood up, and took the little boy in his arms and the lady by the hand, and approached Niccoluccio, saying:—­“Rise, my gossip:  I do not, indeed, restore thee thy wife, whom thy kinsfolk and hers cast forth; but I am minded to give thee this lady, my gossip, with this her little boy, whom I know well to be thy son, and whom I held at the font, and named Gentile:  and I pray thee that she be not the less dear to thee for that she has tarried three months in my house; for I swear to thee by that