To confute them do I set down these facts of which my knowledge cannot be called in question, and also that you may know the true story of Paola di Santafior—­and more particularly that part of it which lies beyond the death she did not die.

The sun of that Christmas day was setting as we drew near to Biancomonte and the humble dwelling of my old mother.  We fell into talk of her once more.  Suddenly Paola turned in her saddle to confront me.

“Tell me, Lord of Biancomonte, will she love me a little, think you?” she asked, to plague me.

“Who would not love you, Lady of Biancomonte?” counter-questioned I.