I moved forward rapidly to the opening in the hedge where these steps
debouched, and no sooner had I appeared there than a soft, lithe body
hurtled against me so suddenly that my arms mechanically went round it, my
right hand still holding the De Civitate Dei, forefinger enclosed within
its pages to mark the place.

Two moist dark eyes looked up appealingly into mine out of a frightened but
very winsome, sun-tinted face.

"0 Madonnino!" she panted. "Protect me! Save me!"

Below us, checked midway in his furious ascent, halted Rinolfo, his big
face red with anger, scowling up at me in sudden doubt and resentment.

The situation was not only extraordinary in itself, but singularly
disturbing to me. Who the girl was, or whence she came, I had no thought
or notion as I surveyed her. She would be of about my own age, or perhaps
a little younger, and from her garb it was plain that she belonged to the
peasant class. She wore a spotless bodice of white linen, which but
indifferently concealed the ripening swell of her young breast. Her
petticoat, of dark red homespun, stopped short above her bare brown ankles,
and her little feet were naked. Her brown hair, long and abundant, was
still fastened at the nape of her slim neck, but fell loose beyond that,
having been disturbed, no doubt, in her scuffle with Rinolfo. Her little
mouth was deeply red and it held strong young teeth that were as white as
milk.

I have since wondered whether she was as beautiful as I deemed her in that
moment. For it must be remembered that mine was the case of the son of
Filippo Balducci--related by Messer Boccaccio in the merry tales of his