“The voices were silent; a cloud passed over the face of the moon; the river rushed and roared on; Flaxius sat in a Vandyke-brown study, thinking how he could obtain peace and repose for the ghostly monk, and also get the pecuniam.
“‘Here is,’ he thought, ‘aliquid laborare—something to be worked out. Now is the time, and here is a chance—ingirlandarsi di lauro—to win the laurel wreath. A rose in January! What a pity that it is not four hundred years later, when people will have green-houses, and blue-nosed vagabonds will be selling red roses all the winter long in the Tornabuoni! Truly it is sometimes inconvenient to be in advance of or behind the age.
“‘Eureka! I have it,’ he at last exclaimed, ‘by the neck and tail. I will spogliar la tesoria—rob the treasury and spoil the Egyptian—si non in errore versatus sum—unless I am stupendously mistaken. Monk! thy weird will soon be dreed—thy penance prophesied will soon be o’er.’
“Saying this he went into the city. And there the next day, going to a fair dame of his acquaintance, who excelled all the ladies of all Italy in ingenious needlework, he had made of silk a rose; and so deftly was it done, that had it been put on a bush, you would have sworn that a nightingale would have sung to it, or bee have sought to ravish it.
“Then going to a Venetian perfumer’s, the wise Flaxius had his flower well scented with best attar of roses from Constantinople, and when midnight struck he was at the tower once more calling to the goblin.
“‘Che vuoi? What dost thou seek?’ cried the Elf.
“‘The treasure of the monk!’
“‘Bene! Give me a rose.’
“‘Ecco! There it is,’ replied Flaxius, extending it.
“‘Non facit—it won’t do,’ answered the goblin (thinking Flaxius to be a monk). ‘It is a sham rose artificially coloured, murice tincta est.’