in a bag, my hat under my arm.  Virginia, on the other hand, looked very handsome in her high-necked damask dress; her hair done upon the top of her head, with a little powder, and a patch at the corner of her mouth.  We were given a page in attendance, who was the son of an apothecary in the town, and made our ten florins with ease.  That being all the bargain, we spent the rest of the day as we chose—­which was not punting against Fra Palamone.  He must have made sixty times that amount.

Towards evening the Piazza, grew very gay.  An opera was given at the theatre, after which the ladies of the place took the air, walking up and down with their gentlemen.  Drolls, marionettes, quack-doctors, a strolling company of comedians from Venice, tumblers and jugglers were holding their performances before great assemblies of the meaner sort; but the gentry kept the middle of the square, and there too Virginia and I, in our finery, braved it with the best.  It was remarkable to me to see how easily and simply she carried herself in a dress and a company entirely strange to her.  She had no mauvaise honte, for she made no pretence; she was not self-conscious, for she deceived nobody; she did not smirk nor make herself in any way ridiculous.  She was still herself, put in a position where—­as she had the wit to see—­staidness was the natural thing; therefore staid she was.  I would have defied any fine gentleman of London to have known her for the little half-naked peasant she had been but one day ago.  Of course, in Prato the truth was to be known at a glance.  There was nobody there, I suppose, who could not have picked out her village; nor did she attempt to conceal it.  “You dress me like a lady for your purposes,” she would say, “you may depend upon me to do my best.”

Clear-minded, brave, honest, noble-hearted Virginia, how well I remember thee at this hour!  And have I not cause?  Should I not be grateful?  Am I not?  Ah, but God knoweth that I am!

Now, as we were promenading in that company, I chanced to see Fra Palamone talking under a lamp to a tall spare gentleman splendidly dressed in tawny velvet and gold lace.  I observed in particular that he had a long, pale, harassed face, a hooked nose, and eyes so light in colour that they seemed almost white.  His hands were exceedingly restless, always fidgeting with something; and he himself, for ever on the start to go, seemed not so much listening to, as enduring, the tale told him.  Some person of consequence he evidently was, for two lacqueys stood near him—­one holding his cloak, another his sword and gloves.  Twice we had passed up and down at no great distance from him before I asked carelessly of Virginia, “Who is the frate’s noble friend?” She did not answer me at once, but pressed my arm and walked rather faster.  When we were beyond the company of promenaders she said:  “I have seen those two for a long time, and know that gentleman very well.  It is the Marchese Semifonte, to whom my village, and my family, and I myself belong, body and soul.”