THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

She told me that she freely forgave me an indiscretion natural to my youth and position, whose consequences, moreover, could
not have been foreseen by either of us. She said that she was about to return to her husband, who would probably come to
Florence to meet her—and she added that she hoped I should resume my studies at the university, and in serious preparation
for the future obliterate all traces of the past. At these words, which I am inclined to fancy had been got by rote, she sighed and
looked down. I promised her entire obedience in every particular, and growing bolder by her timidity, said that, with the
doctor's permission, I should wait upon her at her convenience. Aurelia pressed me to come; and then told me that, thanks to
the benevolence of Donna Giulia conveyed to her by the excellency of Count Giraldi, my visit might be made at the Villa San
Giorgio at her ladyship's next reception. "I believe, Don Francis, that you know the way thither," she said. Very much affected, I
kissed her hand again, and Father Carnesecchi, suggesting that she might be fatigued, took me away. My next visit to her was
paid at the Villa San Giorgio, and on that occasion I saw her alone. Count Giraldi was, in fact, at that very hour, engaged with
Virginia in my lodgings.
This time I was neither ridiculous nor thought to be so. My lady came into the saloon where I was and ran towards me, begging
me not to kneel to her. She resumed for that happy moment at least her old part of guardian angel, sat on the couch by my side,
and looking kindly at me from her beautiful eyes, said in the easiest way, "I see very well that you have not been cared for so
well in Florence as in Padua. Now you are to be your good and obedient self again and do everything I tell you."
I murmured my long-meditated prayer for forgiveness, making a sad botch of its periods. She put her hand over my mouth.
"Not a word of that hateful affair," she said firmly. "You were absurd, of course, and I was to blame for allowing it; but I could
not be angry with such a perfect little poet, and that monster should have known with whom he had to deal. He knows it now, I
believe. He knows that a Gualandi of Siena is not at the beck and call of a pig of Padua. When he comes here, he will come in
his right senses, you will see."
I begged her to tell me her story; but she said there was little to tell. She had not left Padua, as I had supposed, but had stayed
with friends of hers in the hope that what she called the pazzeria of the doctor would be blown away. Finding that he was
obstinate, she had gone to Modena, where she lived for a while as companion to an ancient lady, who became very fond of her.
It needed, indeed, a convenient bronchitis to give her her liberty again. When this occurred she found herself provided with a
pretty legacy—enough to make her independent of the doctor, but at the same time more necessary to his happiness. She had
intended, she said, for Siena; but the hospitality of Donna Giulia was pressed upon her, and the good services of the count were
freely hers. There was talk of a judgeship for her husband; she would see how events turned about before she made any plans.
"And you, Francis," she continued, "are not to be ridiculous any more, nor wander about without shoes, nor consort with
rubbish any more. You are to go back to your studies and your books, and take your degree. You are to say good-bye to
Aurelia as soon as you are well enough, and forget that you ever knew her, if you can."
"If I forget you, Aurelia, I shall forget Heaven," I said.
"We will talk about Heaven another time," said Aurelia. "Who was that saucy girl I met at the convent, who seemed to know all
about you?"
I told her Virginia's story exactly. She said, "The piece is madly in love with you." I assured her that she was mistaken, but she
shook her head, then nodded it many times. "Certainly, certainly she is in love with you," and after a pause—"and I don't
wonder. You have greatly improved, Francis."
To this I said that nothing was further from my thoughts than to do Virginia any harm. I promised to marry her to my man
Scipione as soon as possible, since protection of some sort was necessary to a bondswoman who had run away from the land
to which she belonged. Aurelia heard me thoughtfully, tapping her little foot on the floor in that quick, impatient way I loved so
well in her. "Marry her—yes," she said, "that will be only prudent on your part. Well! it is not for me to quarrel with you—but—
" she shrugged and went on quickly—"Oh, I don't deny that the wench is well enough in her broomstick way!" she cried out.
I said, No, she looked very well when she was dressed. This was an unlucky speech.
"So I have understood, sir," cried Aurelia, breathing fast. "I hear that you were seen with her at Prato; that she was dressed in
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