"Well, brother, suppose you produce your man; where is he?"

"I was merely supposing such a person, Ursula."

"Then you don't know of such a person, brother?"

"Why, no, Ursula; why do you ask?"

"Because, brother, I was almost beginning to think that you meant
yourself."

"Myself! Ursula; I have no fine house to resign; nor have I money.
Moreover, Ursula, though I have a great regard for you, and though
I consider you very handsome, quite as handsome, indeed, as
Meridiana in--"

"Meridiana! where did you meet with her?" said Ursula, with a toss
of her head.

"Why, in old Pulci's--"

"At old Fulcher's! that's not true, brother. Meridiana is a
Borzlam, and travels with her own people, and not with old Fulcher,
who is a gorgio, and a basket-maker."

"I was not speaking of old Fulcher, but Pulci, a great Italian
writer, who lived many hundred years ago, and who, in his poem
called 'Morgante Maggiore,' speaks of Meridiana, the daughter of--"

"Old Carus Borzlam," said Ursula; "but if the fellow you mention