"Well, my grandmother turned the matter over, and next time she met Antonio
in the lime-walk (which, by reason of her fright, was not for some days)
she laid before him what had happened; but to her surprise he only laughed
and said, 'You little simpleton, he wasn't getting out of the window, he
was trying to look in'; and not another word could she get from him.

"So the season moved on to Easter, and news came the Duke had gone to Rome
for that holy festivity. His comings and goings made no change at the
villa, and yet there was no one there but felt easier to think his yellow
face was on the far side of the Apennines, unless perhaps it was the
chaplain.

"Well, it was one day in May that the Duchess, who had walked long with
Nencia on the terrace, rejoicing at the sweetness of the prospect and the
pleasant scent of the gilly-flowers in the stone vases, the Duchess toward
midday withdrew to her rooms, giving orders that her dinner should be
served in her bed-chamber. My grandmother helped to carry in the dishes,
and observed, she said, the singular beauty of the Duchess, who in honor
of the fine weather had put on a gown of shot-silver and hung her bare
shoulders with pearls, so that she looked fit to dance at court with an
emperor. She had ordered, too, a rare repast for a lady that heeded so
little what she ate--jellies, game-pasties, fruits in syrup, spiced cakes
and a flagon of Greek wine; and she nodded and clapped her hands as the
women set it before her, saying again and again, 'I shall eat well to-day.'

"But presently another mood seized her; she turned from the table, called
for her rosary, and said to Nencia: 'The fine weather has made me neglect
my devotions. I must say a litany before I dine.'