you would say,"
he declared. "Do I know the name of the unknown poet?"

Messer Folco nodded. "Well, do you?" he asked, and those that were
standing about him, and especially my good fat gossip merchant that
aired his learning, pricked their ears to hear what Messer Guido might
have to say on a matter that tickled them. I, with my wider knowledge,
that I had kept steadfastly to myself, stood by and chuckled.

For I had that inside my jerkin against my breast which, though indeed
it belonged to Messer Guido, Messer Guido had never yet seen, and I had
brought it with me to deliver to him. And it concerned the
subject-matter of the speech of Folco and his friends.

But Messer Guido could say little to please them. "Why," he declared, "I
know no more than all Florence knows by this time, that some one has
written songs which all men sing, sonnets which all women sigh over.
There is a ballad of his addressed to all ladies that are learned in
love which is something more than beautiful."

My jolly gossip nodded sagaciously. "Aye, but who made it?" he
questioned, sententiously, and looked as complacent as if he had said
something really wise.

Guido saluted him politely. "Ask some one wiser than I."

As for me, I grinned to think that I was that some one wiser, and that
Guido never suspected it.

Messer Folco touched my dear friend lightly on the shoulder. "It was not
your honor's self?" he asked, benignly, with his shrewd eyes smiling
upon the handsome face.

Messer Guido shook his head. "No, Messer Folco," he protested, "my
little wit flies my flag and wears my coat. If I could write such rhymes
as those I should never be mum about them, I promise you."

Then, with a gracious gesture, as of apology for having failed to
satisfy the curiosity of those that accosted him, he saluted Messer
Folco and moved toward the centre of the room. I was on his heels in an
instant, for I wished for a word with him before he was unfindable in
the thick and press of his friends, and I had somewhat to say to him
concerning the very matter on which he had been speaking. I caught him
by the arm, and he turned to greet me as he greeted all that knew him
and loved him, with a smile, and I whispered him, plucking a paper from
my breast.

"Guido, heart, hearken. Here is a new song sent to your house that seems
better than all the others. I called at your lodgings and saw a scroll
on your table, and knowing what it must be, I made bold to