“Can you tell me whose hair this is?”
She laid it on her breast and on her forehead, for it was there she saw though her eyes were open.
“It comes from an illustrious head.”
“Is she going to be happy?”
“So far, no cloud hovers over her.”
“Though she is married?”
“Yes, she is married, but, like me, she is still a virgin—purer than I, for I love my husband.”
“Fatality!” muttered the wizard. “Thank you, Lorenza, I know all I wanted.”
He kissed her, put the hair carefully in his pocket, and cutting a small tress from the Italian’s head, he burnt it in a candle. The ashes, wrapped in the paper, he gave to the cardinal when with him once more. On the way down stairs he awakened Lorenza.
“The oracle says that you may hope, prince,” said Balsamo.