I told her to be quiet, but she would not; she grew wild, staring about and straining out her arms.  “I will be no party to this folly—­I will not—­I will not,” she said half to herself, but Palamone was listening with a comical, wry face, rubbing his beard.

She took no notice.  “I know better than you what a girl needs, and what her rights are.  One woman to humour your whims is enough, I should hope —­Look at me, look at me, Don Francis!” I had never seen her in this state before—­a beautiful starving creature, like some wild thing baulked of her desire.  Her eyes were gaunt, she held out her hands to me; I was much concerned—­it was really Palamone who got her to be quiet.

He came and touched her on the shoulder.  “Have patience, my daughter,” he said, and added some quick words under his breath, whose sense was lost to me.  Meantime a little company of passers-by had collected about us, and watched for the event.  “We will not discuss our affairs before these citizens,” said the frate, “more especially as the lady, whose name you toss to and fro, is not here to applaud or condemn.  No doubt but you will find her in Prato, if, as you say, she is of the Sienese nation.  Why, to the translation of the blessed remains are to come Donna Violante, wife of the Grand Prince, and Donna Camilla Pallavicini, his mistress.  Next to a saint, a Grand Duke’s mistress would draw every woman in Siena—­and we are to have both.  The thing is not worth discussion.  She will be there.  Hey, then, children, avanti!”

We went on without any more words; Virginia, all her spirit gone out of her, presented the most woebegone appearance.  It would have been evident to me that she was deeply ashamed of herself had I not been too incensed to think anything about her.  We entered the town of Prato about five o’clock in the evening, and found it crammed to the walls with sightseers and those who expected to offer them sights.  The Piazza was like the camp about a fair, the inns were like anthills, the very churches were full.  On the morrow was to be the great procession of religious to enact the translation of the remains.  No lodgings were to be had better than a stall in the stable of the Sparrow-hawk.  There it was that we established our camp; and that done, I left my companions and wandered alone about the town, hardly hoping, and not able, to find my beloved, remote and much injured Aurelia.

Late at night I returned and threw myself upon the straw which was to be my bed.  I was tired, and fell asleep at once, but not comfortably.  Restlessness possessed me, I turned and tossed about, was distressed by dreams of incredible and fruitless labours and of mental anguish, whose cause I could not define.  Presently after I was awakened by a sense of something touching my feet, and lay for a time awake, wondering what it might be.  Some person or another was touching me there—­softly, very softly, and in kindness.  I heard gentle whispering—­I felt the touch as of velvet on my feet; and then a drop fell, warm and wet.  I said, “Who are you who kiss my feet?” and was answered, “It is I—­Virginia—­my lord.”