"Gionetta, is he not god-like?"

"Sancta Maria! he is handsome, bellissimo; and when you are his wife,--
for they say these English are never satisfied unless they marry--"

"Wife! English! Whom are you talking of?"

"Why, the young English signor, to be sure."

"Chut! I thought you spoke of Zicci."

"Oh! Signor Zicci is very rich and very generous; but he
wants to be your cavalier, not your husband. I see that,--leave me
alone. When you are married, then you will see how amiable Signor Zicci
will be. Oh, per fede! but he will be as close to your husband as the
yolk to the white; that he will.

"Silence, Gionetta! How wretched I am to have no one else to speak to--
to advise me. Oh, beautiful sun!" and the girl pressed her hand to her
heart with wild energy, "why do you light every spot but this? Dark,
dark! And a little while ago I was so calm, so innocent, so gay. I did
not hate you then, Gionetta, hateful as your talk was; I hate you now.
Go in; leave me alone--leave me."

"And indeed it is time I should leave you, for the polenta will be
spoiled, and you have eaten nothing all day. If you don't eat you will
lose your beauty, my darling, and then nobody will care for you. Nobody
cares for us when we grow ugly,--I know that; and then you must, like
old Gionetta, get some Isabel of your own to spoil. I'll go and see to