his knave at the inn, Fra Cipolla had strictly
enjoined him on no account to suffer any one to touch aught of his, and
least of all his wallet, because it contained the holy things. But Guccio
Imbratta, who was fonder of the kitchen than any nightingale of the green
boughs, and most particularly if he espied there a maid, and in the
host's kitchen had caught sight of a coarse fat woman, short and
misshapen, with a pair of breasts that shewed as two buckets of muck and
a face that might have belonged to one of the Baronci, all reeking with
sweat and grease and smoke, left Fra Cipolla's room and all his things to
take care of themselves, and like a vulture swooping down upon the
carrion, was in the kitchen in a trice. Where, though 'twas August, he
sat him down by the fire, and fell a gossiping with Nuta--such was the
maid's name--and told her that he was a gentleman by procuration,(7) and
had more florins than could be reckoned, besides those that he had to
give away, which were rather more than less, and that he could do and say
such things as never were or might be seen or heard forever, good Lord!
and a day. And all heedless of his cowl, which had as much grease upon it
as would have furnished forth the caldron of Altopascio,(8) and of his
rent and patched doublet, inlaid with filth about the neck and under the
armpits, and so stained that it shewed hues more various than ever did
silk from Tartary or the Indies, and of his shoes that were all to
pieces, and of his hose that were all in tatters, he told her in a tone
that would have become the Sieur de Chatillon, that he was minded to
rehabit her and put her in trim, and raise her from her abject condition,
and place her where, though she would not have much to call her own, at
any rate she would have hope of better things, with much more to the like
effect; which professions, though made with every appearance of good
will, proved, like most of his schemes, insubstantial as air, and came to
nothing.

Finding Guccio Porco thus occupied with Nuta, the two young men gleefully
accounted their work half done, and, none gainsaying them, entered Fra
Cipolla's room, which was open, and lit at once upon the wallet, in which
was the feather. The wallet opened, they found, wrapt up in many folds of
taffeta, a little casket, on opening which they discovered one of the
tail-feathers of a parrot, which they deemed must be that which the friar
had promised to shew the good folk of Ce