to do with the connection.

"Four hundred years have past and gone," said I to the statue of a woman
who gazed at me in astonishment, "since Laura de Sade walked here;
perhaps she was not as handsome as you, but she was lively, kindly,
polite, and good of heart. May this air which she breathed and which you
breathe now kindle in you the spark of fire divine; that fire that
coursed through her veins, and made her heart beat and her bosom swell.
Then you would win the worship of all worthy men, and from none would you
receive the least offence. Gladness, madam, is the lot of the happy, and
sadness the portion of souls condemned to everlasting pains. Be cheerful,
then, and you will do something to deserve your beauty."

The worthy Dolci was kindled by my enthusiasm. He threw himself upon me,
and kissed me again and again; the fool Stuard laughed; and his wife, who
possibly thought me mad, did not evince the slightest emotion. She took
my arm, and we walked slowly towards the house of Messer Francesco
d'Arezzo, where I spent a quarter of an hour in cutting my name. After
that we had our dinner.

Dolci lavished more attention on the extraordinary woman than I did.
Stuard did nothing but eat and drink, and despised the Sorgue water,
which, said he, would spoil the Hermitage; possibly Petrarch may have
been of the same opinion. We drank deeply without impairing our reason,
but the lady was very temperate. When we reached Avignon we bade her
farewell, declining the invitation of her foolish husband to come and
rest in his rooms.

I took Dolci's arm and we walked beside the Rhone as the sun went down.
Among other keen and witty observations the young man said,--