"My Guido, my Guido lad! put me out of my pain. Last week you told me
you were on your way to visit your Lady in the Church and Cloister of
Santa Maria Novella. Ever since I have been turning, turning your words
in my head, without fathoming their meaning. I shall have no peace till
you have given me an explanation of them. I beseech you, tell me what
you meant--so far, that is, as your discretion shall suffer you, seeing
the matter doth concern a lady."

Messer Guido burst out a-laughing. Raising himself on his elbow in bed,
he looked Messer Betto in the eyes.

"Friend!" said he, "the Lady I spoke to you of hath more than one
habitation. The day you saw me going to visit her, I found her in the
Library of Santa Maria Novella. But alack! I heard but the one half of
her discourse, for she spoke to me in both of the two languages that
flow like honey from her adorable lips. First she delivered me a
discourse in the tongue of the Greeks, which I could not comprehend,
then she addressed me in the dialect of the Latins with a wondrous
wisdom. And so well pleased was I with her conversation that I am right
fain to marry her."

"Tis at the least," said Messer Betto, "a niece of the Emperor of
Constantinople, or his natural daughter.... How name you her?"

"If needs be," answered Messer Guido, "we must give her a love name,
such as every poet gives to his mistress. I will call her Diotima, in
memory of Diotima of Megara, who showed the way to the lovers of Virtue.
But her public and avowed name is Philosophy, and 'tis the most
excellent bride a man can find. I want no other, and I swear by the gods
to be faithful unto death, which doth put an end to life and thought."