"My lord would speak with thee," repeated the page. "He is not the Duke, but it is the Duke's pleasure that he be obeyed in matters such as this. Come, maiden, there is no need to fear: it is an honor."
He turned his rein again, and, indeed, not daring to refuse, the girl followed and stood timidly by Tisio's side. He looked at her long and eagerly, at her scarlet dress, her sunny hair, the white and green lilies in her hands. Still he did not speak, and she raised her head and looked around questioningly and fearful. But the page only smiled: the men-at-arms sat silent and indifferent.
"Thou art very beautiful," said Tisio at last. "What is thy name? Whose daughter art thou?"
"Graziosa Vistarnini, my lord; Agnolo Vistarnini is my father. He is a painter."
But Tisio's eyes grew vacant, and his gaze wandered to the lilies.
"Did they come from yonder?" he asked, and pointed beyond the gate.
"No, my lord. From a friend's garden. My father thinks to paint them."
Still Tisio did not heed her answer; he laughed foolishly.
"I may go?" asked Graziosa timidly. "I may go, my lord?"