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Updated: June 26, 2025
How long have you been of that trade, pray?" Angioletto received this shot with firmness, even dignity. "I was formerly a poet attached to the Court, Magnificence. But when Madama turned me away it became necessary that I should see my young wife; so I became a chimney-sweep for the purpose." The Duke's mouth twitched too much for his own dignity.
Angioletto, who found her sitting on the grass among her ladies, advanced with great ceremony and many bows. Madama did not get up; no one did; so Angioletto had to step gingerly into a ring of roguish women to deliver his letter. Lionella scampered through it, reddening with pleasure; she beckoned him with smiles to sit beside her.
"That might be the chimney in question, my gentleman." With a "By your leave, Sor Beppo," Angioletto stepped delicately into the room. He threw down cloak and cap, unstrapped girdle and hanger, stripped off his doublet, and stood up in shirt and breeches. Beppo watched him, all agape, too breathless to chew. Before he could interfere "By the Saints, but he's in!" he cried with arms thrown up.
"I don't agree with you," said Borso. "If my name were Ferdinand of Arragon, or Sforza, or della Rovere, yes; but being Borso d'Este, no." "Your Grace puts me to shame," said Angioletto, with feeling. "I am to take it then " "You shall take it as you please, my friend," Borso rejoined, with his chin once more upon his clasped knees.
"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 Angioletto had been assured of the nesting of his mate, he dressed himself point-device and went to Court to deliver his credentials.
Where is my wife?" That was Borso's cue to stare. "Your wife?" he cried, "your wife! Heaven above us, man, why the devil should your wife be in my bed?" Angioletto, with the deepest respect always, suffered a smile to play askew about his lips. "Alas, Magnificence," he said, "if I dared I would ask him, why the devil he should be in my wife's bed?"
"There are red flames in your cheeks, child, and a ring on your finger. Did you find those in the church?" "Madonna gave them to me, Olimpia." "So, so, so! Do you begin by robbing a shrine, pray?" "Ah, Madama Olimpia," said Angioletto, "we have only taken from the shrine what is our due." Not the least of the minstrel's parts was that of speaking as though he had something weighty in reserve.
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.
But I confess I should like to know why your wife has a bed in my house." Angioletto nodded gravely. "I should be the last person to deny your Grace's right to all information. Bellaroba is my dear wife's name, her country is Venice, her duties are to be about Madama Lionella's person. My own duties are to be about hers, so far as I may."
He, on the contrary, directly he had bent his knee to the Duke, turned to where she stood, and, in face of the whole city, put his arms about her, and found a way to kiss her cheek. The broad ring of onlookers wavered; the twitches played like summer lightning over Borso's face. "Come here, Angioletto," he said. Angioletto drew near the throne.
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