“This diamond was my mother's, love,” said Imogen; “take it, my heart, and keep it as long as you love me.”
“Sweetest, fairest,” answered Leonatus, “wear this bracelet for my sake.”
“Ah!” cried Imogen, weeping, “when shall we meet again?”
And while they were still in each other's arms, the King came in, and Leonatus had to leave without more farewell.
When he was come to Rome, where he had gone to stay with an old friend of his father's, he spent his days still in thinking of his dear Imogen, and his nights in dreaming of her. One day at a feast some Italian and French noblemen were talking of their sweethearts, and swearing that they were the most faithful and honorable and beautiful ladies in the world. And a Frenchman reminded Leonatus how he had said many times that his wife Imogen was more fair, wise, and constant than any of the ladies in France.
“I say so still,” said Leonatus.
“She is not so good but that she would deceive,” said Iachimo, one of the Italian nobles.
“She never would deceive,” said Leonatus.
“I wager,” said Iachimo, “that, if I go to Britain, I can persuade your wife to do whatever I wish, even if it should be against your wishes.”