a; the
august couple wrangled publicly over his little body.

"What, Madam," cried the Count, "is it not enough that you absent
yourself from my house? Must you keep my friends out of it also?"

"He was accredited to me, my lord," said the lady, "to me, therefore, he
shall come."

"Good madam," returned Guarini, "I admire your taste as a man, but
deplore it as a husband. I think the little poet will do better with
me."

"Stuff!" cried the Countess, "I might be his mother."

Said the Count: "Madam, I need not deny it; yet it is very evident that
you are not his mother." He spoke with some heat.

Lionella was mightily amused. "Jealousy, my lord?" She arched her fine
brows.

"I don't know the word, Madam," he answered her, touched on a raw.
Jealousy appeared to him as the most vulgar of the vices.

"Prove that to me!" the Countess pursued him. Guarini made her a bow.

"Perfectly, Contessa," said he. "You shall have your poet, and he shall
be my friend." Wherein the Count showed that to be a gentleman it may
sometimes be necessary to appear a fool.

The matter was thus settled, and Angioletto ravished from his nest.

His last night at home--_a casa_, as he loved to call it--need not be
dwelt upon. Bitter-sweet it was, yet his courage made it more sweet
than bitter. Bellaroba was tearful, clung to him, kissed and murmured
incoherently because of sobbing. He loved her more than ever for that,
but as became a prudent husband, thought to say a word in season.

"My dear," he said in her ear, as he held her close, "you are very young
to be a wife, and too young to be properly left alone with such
companions as your Olimpia, whom I distrust, and Monna Matura, whom I
abhor. But what can I do? I must make our fortunes, and pray to God that
your beauty do not mar them. Follow my advice, my injunctions even, and
it will not. Keep much at home, go not abroad unattended or uncovered.
Your hooded head makes you surpassingly beautiful; you need not fear to
be a figure of fun. At the same time it shields most of your sacred
person from profane eyes. The great shield of all, however, is to have
business before you when you are from house. Go briskly about
this--whether it be market, mass, or mischief--and no one will look at
you twice. At home it should be the same. There may be visitors; if
Monna Olimpia can contrive it, there will be a good many. You may judge
of their quality by her anxiety to receive them. Be guarded then,