ou wish to say."

Then Vittoria told Beatrice of Dante, how he was devoted soul and body
to Beatrice, and how it was only in consequence of Vittoria's well-meant
but ill-proving advice that he at all sought her society. She told how
she had given that advice to save the youth from the hatred of Simone,
but had not told him this, telling him rather that by so doing he would
keep his love for Beatrice a secret from the world. Then the paleness of
Beatrice changed for a little to a soft red, and Vittoria saw that she
believed, and kissed her hand and left her. Thus it came about that my
labor was already lightened, though I knew it not when I set out to seek
for Beatrice on behalf of my friend.

The good chance that sometimes favors the ambassadors of Love served me
in good stead very presently by affording me occasion to approach
Madonna Beatrice and engage her in speech, for she was ever courteous in
her bearing toward her father's guests. After we had discoursed for a
brief while on trifles, I, finding that where we stood and talked I
might speak with little fear of being overheard, straightway disclosed
my mission to her, and delivered my errand, putting it, as I think, in
words no less apt than choice, and making a very proper plea for my
friend, presenting, indeed, his petition so well that, though I say it
who, perhaps, should not say it, I do not think that he could have done
it any better himself. I made bold to add that my friend went in fear
that he had in some way offended her, but that I was very sure he would
be able to excuse himself to her eyes if only she would afford him the
opportunity to do so.

Madonna Beatrice listened to me very quietly while I delivered myself of
my message and of such embroideries of my own as I saw fit to tag on to
its original simplicity, and though I thought I could discern that she
was affected not unkindly toward my friend, in spite of whatever fault
he might have committed, she did not in any way change color or display
any other of those signals by which ladies are accustomed to make
manifest their agitation when any whisper of love business is in the
air. When I had finished, she did no more at first than to ask me if,
indeed, Messer Dante was the unknown poet who had so delighted Florence.

To which question I made answer that the truth was indeed so, at which
assurance she seemed to me at first to smile, and then to look sad, and
then to smile again. But when I was beg