'O!' cried Catherine, 'I grant you that, with an angel, the manner spices the lesson. I will tell you, girls, how he rebuked me yesterday on this same legend of reciprocity. "How could you take sport," says he, "of witnessing that poor Montano's punishment?" "Why, very well," says I, "seeing he was a man, and therefore my natural enemy." "How is man so?" says he. "He makes me bear his children for him," says I. "But I suppose he will be made to suffer his share of the toil in this new Commonwealth of love." "You talk like a child," he says. "Then," says I, "I will sing like a woman," and I extemporised—very clever, you will admit.'
She pinched up her skirts, and put out a little foot, and chirruped, in no voice at all, but with a sauce of impudence:—
'"Love is give and take," says he,
"Every gander knows—
Wear the prickle for my sake;
For thine, I'll wear the rose."
"Grazie, kind and true," says I,
"For that noble dower—
Only, between me and you,
I should like the flower."
"And hast thou not it?" cries St. Bernardo, interrupting me; and, would you believe it, swinging round his lute, his lips and his finger-tips join issue in the prettiest nonsense ever conceived for a poor wife's fooling. Wait, and I will recall it.'
She had the quickest wit and memory, and in a moment was chaunting:—
'"Whence did our bird-soft baby come?
How learned to prattle of this for home?
Some sleepy nurse-angel let her stray,
And she found herself in the world one day.
She heard nurse calling, and further fled:
She hid herself in our cabbage bed.
There we came on her fast asleep,
What could we do but take and keep,
Carry her in and up the stair?
She would have died of cold out there.
She woke at once in a little fright;
But Love beckoned her from the light.
Lure we had lit, for dear love fain;
She had seen it shine through the window pane.
Lure we had kindled of flame and bliss,
To catch such a little ghost-moth as this.
Ah, me! it shrivelled her pretty wing.
Here she must stay, poor thing, poor thing!"'
She ended: 'Faith, St. Charming's lips make that daintiest setting to his fancies, that I could have kissed 'em while he improved his song with a homily' (she mimicked again the boy's manner, comically emphasised). '"Why," saith he, "would you grudge yourself that poignant privilege of your sex? would ye share the agony and halve the gain? What gift so careless in all the world makes such sweet possession? Furs, gowns, and trinkets pall; perishable things grow less by use; the diamond suffers by its larger peer. Only the gift of love, the wee babe, takes new delight of time; renews woman's best through herself; is a perpetual novelty, spring all the year round, flowers fresh burgeoning through faded blooms. To be sole warden of the quickening soul ye bore—you, you! to see the lamb-like heaven of its eyes cuddling to your bosom's fold—all thine, save the spent heat that cast it! O, rather be the mould than the turbulent metal it shapes! Go to, and thank God for labours yielding such reward. Go to, and be the mother of saints." Whereat I curtsied, and "Thank you, sir," says I, "for the offer, but my bed's already laid for me in Rome," and then——'
What more she might have quoted or invented none might say, for at the moment a wild figure burst into the chamber, and ran to its mistress, and entreated her with lips and hands.
'Give me thy gage—quick! There is one starves in the "Hermit's Cell," and they will not let me pass to him without. Thou art the Duke, thou art the Duke now. Give it me, in mercy, and avert God's vengeance from this wicked house!'
Bona had arisen, pale as death, pity and anguish pleading in her eyes.