Though I comforted her pretty well and bade her think no more about the man, I very soon had reason to be of her opinion.  Two or three days later, as I was sawing planks in the yard, to make a trellis, that saturnine person came in, resplendently dressed, and filled the wholesome place with the reek of his essences.  He saluted me with extravagant politeness, telling me that he had words for my private ear which he was sure would interest me.  When I took little or no notice of him he came to closer quarters.  “Hearken, Signor Manifold,” says he, “my news concerns Donna Aurelia.”

How he knew that sacred name I cannot conceive.  It had never passed from my lips into his wicked ears.  But I was unprepared for it, and started violently the moment I heard it.  “Ha!” cried he, “now I have passed your guard, Don Francis, have I?  Now perhaps you will do me the honour of conversing?” I blush to record that I led him within the workshop and begged him to be quick with his news.

There is no need for any reader of mine to tell me my duty.  I ought not to have allowed her name to rest upon his mouth; I ought not to have allowed it to touch mine.  I ought not to have remembered Aurelia, I ought not to have adored her.  Was I not wedded?  Was I not beloved?  O God of Heaven and earth, if regrets did not avail me then, how can they avail me now?  But I will no more look back than I will anticipate in this narrative.  I will repeat with what face I can that I led this hardy ruffian into the workshop, cleared a bench for him to sit upon, and bade him tell his story.

Then said he, “My news would at any other time than this give you great pain, Don Francis, for it is not altogether to the credit of one to whom you have paid the most tender of your vows.  But seeking, as I have always done, your honour and advantage, I feel that I shall really increase both of them by what I have to say.  For if I remind you that you are a fortunate husband, it ought to enhance your consciousness of that fact when I go on to tell you that Donna Aurelia was unworthy of your attentions, since she took no pains to deserve them.”

I said here that I knew beforehand his malice and the reasons for it.  I said, “You have proved yourself already so unworthy of belief that I tell you now I shall not credit one word you say.  How dare you speak of the unworthiness of any lady, being yourself the most worthless of men?”

He smiled, and continued, “What will you do, but thank God, my dear Don Francis, when I tell you that it was she herself who put Fra Palamone in your way?  What will you say when you know that you were not intended to kill the Capuchin so that you might be chased out of Florence, as you have supposed, but instead, it was hoped that he would carry off Miss Virginia to her marchese?  What will you now say to Donna Aurelia’s share in that plot, when I tell you that she——­”

He paused here, grinning his triumph.