wise, unwise, heedless, heedful. He charmed a grin at last
into the very Captain's long face. That warrior, indeed, went so far as
to drink his health in wine of Verona. He and his
Olimpia--unhesitatingly his in the gaiety of the moment--drank it out of
the same glass. "Love and Ferrara!" cried Captain Mosca, with a foot on
the table. "Love in Ferrara," said Angioletto, and stroked Bellaroba's
hair. So everything was very friendly and full of hope. At a late hour,
and for excellent reasons, Olimpia kissed Bellaroba good-night, was
herself kissed by Angioletto, and withdrew. Captain Mosca prayed
vehemently for further and better acquaintance with his friend "the
divine poet," and his pretty mistress. So went Bellaroba's marriage
supper.

IV

"WHY COME YE NAT TO COURTE?"

"Le donne e i cavalier, gli affanni e gli agi,
Che ne invogliava araore e cortesia."

The little house--discreet affair of eaves modest as drooped eyelids, of
latticed windows, of wistaria before and a bower of willows behind--was
found and furnished out of the girls' store and the Captain's credit.
Donna Matura, a brown old woman, hideous, toothless, and inclined to
swooning, was installed as duenna. She was, indeed, owner of the house
and furniture, for which Olimpia paid and the Captain promised to pay;
but that did not appear until much later. There was a great charm, not
without a certain deal of luxury, in the place. Of course there was a
garden--a bright green nest of flowering trees and shrubs; in the middle
was a grass-plat; in that, again, a bronze fountain, which had the form
of three naked boys back to back, and an inscription to the effect that
it had been set up by a certain Galeotto Moro, in the days of Marquess
Lionel, "in honour of Saints Peter and Paul and of the Virgin Deipara,"
upon some special occasion of family thanksgiving. The weeping
willows--themselves fountains of green--sprayed over a stone seat. The
place bore signs of an honourable past; it was falling now gently to a
comely decay; but it answered every purpose. All promised well. So much
Captain Mosca was given to understand; yet it was hinted that his
promises were not complete. "My life and soul," cried he on his knees in
the garden, "the little affair is a matter of three minutes." It proved
to be a matter of more than three months and was then accomplished in
another way and with other results than had been looked for. Thus it
was.

When Angiol