might take you up to my right hand, call you my brother, make you my heir—­still you would be the gentleman condescending, and I the cobbler’s son making myself ridiculous.  Your misfortunes—­every one of them—­have arisen from the fact that you persist in treating your inferiors as your equals.  I should be sorry to tell you—­it would be a great impertinence—­how far back into your career in Italy I can trace this foible of yours.”

He was no doubt in the right.  A little more generosity on my part would have told him so.  I said that I could not convince him, and that I should leave Virginia to do that.

“Oh, sir, it is she that has convinced me already,” says he.

The return of Fra Palamone with the gear put an end to our talk.  I said, “Come with me, Belviso, as you will—­but come”; and his reply was, “Servo suo.”

I left the honest family at Sinalunga calling blessings on my name, and rode forward on a good horse to Arezzo.  By my orders Fra Palamone kept behind me.  By his own determination, Belviso held him company, and led the sumpter-horse.

CHAPTER XXXIX

VIRGINIA DECLINES THE HEIGHTS

I took up my lodgings at the Bear, in Arezzo, and made all such preparations to receive my wife as were becoming.  I engaged a woman to wait upon her, had a withdrawing-room—­as the French say, a boudoir—­ fitted up, and caused her bedchamber to be hung with the best curtain and wall furniture the place could afford, I then proceeded to dine, but told the landlord that he must be prepared at any moment to place a fresh cover on the table, with a bottle of his most excellent wine.  To Belviso, who persisted in playing valet, and who told me that he had been in Arezzo before more than once, I entrusted the privilege—­though I grudged it him—­of seeking far and wide through the town for Virginia’s lodging.  I said, “Brother, you failed me once, in spite of yourself, when you tried so bravely to find my wife.  Don’t fail me this time, I beseech you.”

He looked troubled; he fingered the tablecloth before he spoke.  I encouraged him to open me his mind.  “Well, Don Francis,” said he, most uncomfortably, “the task you put upon me then was very easy but for the one little circumstance that Virginia was not there.  But this present is of enormous difficulty.”

“Why so, my dear?” I asked him.

“For the one little circumstance that Virginia is here,” said he; and then, seeing my bewilderment, he added, “You don’t know the Tuscans of her class as well as I do, that’s certain.  You know them as children, as warm-hearted, passionate simpletons; but you have yet to learn how tender they are of their reputation, and how quick to feel a touch.  I have never seen your Virginia, but I’ll warrant her as proud as fire.  I believe that she would rather die than occupy that damask-hung bed, even with your honour for mate.  And supposing she consented to that, do you not guess what would be the first thing she would do?  It would be to scratch the eyes out of that Donna di Camera you have given her.  And she would do that, mind you, in self-defence, for the Donna di Camera (who is probably a little above her in degree) would certainly do the same for Virginia.”