"Madonna! Madonna Valentina!"

Francesco and the lady turned their eyes in the direction whence the
voice proceeded, and they beheld a superbly dazzling figure entering the
glade. In beauty of person and richness of apparel he was well worthy of
the company of Valentina. His doublet was of grey velvet, set off with
scales of beaten gold, and revealing a gold-embroidered vest beneath; his
bonnet matched his doublet, and was decked by a feather that sparkled
with costly gems; his gold-hilted sword was sheathed in a scabbard also
of grey velvet set with jewels. His face was comely as a damsel's, his
eyes blue and his hair golden.

"Behold," announced Peppino gravely, "Italy's latest translation of the
Golden Ass of Apuleius."

Upon seeing the noble niece of Guidobaldo kneeling there with Francesco's
head still pillowed in her lap, the new-comer cast up his arms in a
gesture of dismay.

"Saints in Heaven!" he exclaimed, hurrying towards them. "What
occupation have you found? Who is this ugly fellow?"

"Ugly?" was all she answered him, in accents of profound surprise.

"Who is he?" the young man insisted, his tone growing heated. "And what
does he here and thus, with you? Gesù! What would his Highness say?
How would he deal with me were he to learn of this? Who is the man,
Madonna?"

"Why, as you see, Messer Gonzaga," she answered, with some heat, "a