Thus we now presented ourselves to the old man who was the sole tenant of that lonely and squalid house.  A ducat opened his door as wide as it would go, and gave us free access to every cranny of his dwelling.  Food he procured us—­rough black bread, some pieces of roasted goat, and some goat’s milk—­and on this we regaled ourselves as though it had been a ducal banquet, for hunger had set us in the mood to account anything delicious.  And when we had eaten we fell to talking, the old man having left us to go about such peasant duties as claimed his attention, and our talk concerned ourselves, our future first, and later on our past.  I remember that Madonna returned to the matter of the deception that I had practised, seeking to learn what reasons had impelled me, and I answered her in all truth.

“Madonna mia, I think it must have been to win your love.  When Giovanni Sforza bade me, with many a threat, to write those verses, I undertook the task with ready gladness, for in its performance I was to pour out the tale of the passion that was consuming my poor heart.  It occurred to me that if those verses were worthy, you might come to love their author for their beauty, and so I strove to render them beautiful.  It was the same spirit urged me to don the Lord Giovanni’s armour and fight in that splendid if futile skirmish.  Even as you had come to love the author for his verses, so might you come to love the warrior for his valour.  That you should account the one and the other the work of Giovanni Sforza was to me a little thing, since I was well content to think that you but loved him because you accounted his the things that I had performed.  Therefore was I the one you truly loved, although you did not know it.  Could you but conceive what consolation that reflection was to me, you would deal lightly with me for my deceit.”

“I can conceive it,” she answered, very gently, her eyes downcast; “and now that I know the motives that impelled you, I almost love you for that deceit itself, for it seems to me that it holds some quality well worthy of devotion.”

Such was our talk, all of a nature to help us to a better understanding of each other, and all seeming to endear us more and more by showing us how close the past had already drawn us.

Later I rose and announced my intention of adventuring into Cattolica, there to procure her garments more seemly than those she wore, in which she might journey on and come into the presence of my mother.  Also, there was in Cattolica a man I knew, of whom I hoped for the loan of enough money to enable me to purchase mules, to the end that we might journey in more dignity and comfort.  It was then about the twentieth hour, and I hoped to return by nightfall.  I took my leave of Madonna, enjoining her to rest and to seek sleep whilst I was absent; and with that I set out.

Cattolica was no more than a half-league distant, and I looked to reach it in a half-hour or so.  I fell into thought as I trudged along, and I was building plans for the sunlit future that was to be ours.  I was a man transformed that day, and I could have sung in spite of the chill December wind that buffeted me, so full of joy and gladness was my heart.