My heart and whole mind being now set upon finding her, my chagrin may be imagined when Fra Palamone returned without her.  He demanded money to prosecute his researches beyond the confines of Arezzo.  “She’s a deep one,” he said, “she’s as deep as the sea.  Who can tell where she is by now?  May be in Venice, may be in Rome, may be in the attics of this inn.”  I gave him twenty guineas, and he disappeared again for ten days.  At the end of that time he returned once more, horribly dishevelled, dirty and extended.  He looked to be just out and about again after a ruinous debauch.  He talked in hollow whispers, he trembled in the limbs, he started and turned pale at a shadow, or the sound of a mouse in the wainscot.  He said he had been to Ancona, Gubbio, Rimini, Ravenna, Chioggia, Venice, Udine, Trieste.  He demanded money—­fifty guineas; but this time I gave him nothing.  I was preparing to go to Florence, and had other agents than him in view.  I dismissed him from my service, and told him to go to the devil.  He left me for the moment, vowing as he did it that he should never, never quit my service, and I found that it was no easier to get rid of him now than it had ever been.  I saw him on the morrow; I saw him every day.  The more I saw of him the more I abhorred him; and the more I made this plain the more devoted he professed himself.  Wherever I went he shadowed me.  He lurked in the dark corners of churches where I made my devotions, or studied the monuments until I rose from my knees.  If I rode in the country I knew that he was not far away, if I frequented public assemblies I saw his keen eyes upon me, and his wide mouth fixed at a patient grin.  He was oppressively, sickeningly affectionate, his role being that of the old friend of my family, who had rocked my cradle and held me by my leading-strings.  At meals he came skipping about me with little offerings:  “A rose-bud for my bosom’s king!” he would say; “Fresh-pulled radishes for my heart’s blood!”; and once, while I was at dinner, he danced up to the table with a large and bleeding rabbit, saying, “A coney for my dear, of old Palamone’s wiring!” This was too much for my patience; I swung the beast about his ears, drove him from the room and flung his catch after him.  He brought me no more presents, but did not cease to be my shadow.

CHAPTER XL

I GET RID OF MY ENEMY AND PART FROM MY FRIEND

When the day drew near upon which I had appointed to depart from Florence, I saw that I must come to terms with the fellow.  I sent Belviso out to look for him—­and to find him at no greater distance than the other side of the door, with his eye at the keyhole.  He came in, blinking like an owl, still weak with his recent excesses, and very nervous.  I felt my gorge rise at the sight of him, but did my best to be cool.

“Palamone,” I began, “it appears that you have recently done me a service——­”