"Neither mad nor possessed, but in my perfect senses, such as God has been pleased to give me;" so saying, Andrew took Isabella's hand, and she gave him hers, and they were thus affianced.
"What is this?" cried Castrucho; "can it be that you will thus dishonour the old man's white hairs?"
"An alliance with my family can dishonour no one," said Andrew's father. "I am noble, and if not rich, yet not poor enough to ask for anything from anybody. I have never engaged in any mercantile concerns: these young people have made this marriage without my knowledge, for in young heads wisdom is not measured by years, and if young heads do foolish things sometimes, yet they often make good hits, and when they do so, although by chance, they frequently succeed better than the most prudent."
Two priests who were present said that the marriage was valid, since, if it had begun under the guise of madness, it had been confirmed in sober truth.
"And again I will confirm it," said Andrew; and so said Isabella. On hearing all this, the uncle, heart-broken, let his head fall upon his breast, and heaving a deep sigh, turned up his eyes, and seemed to have received his death-blow. He was carried to bed by his servants. Isabella rose from hers. Andrew took her home to his father's house, as his wife. Two days after this there came into the church a child (the young brother of Andrew) to be christened; Isabella and Andrew to be married, and the body of her uncle to be buried. Such and so strange are the events of human life. At the same moment some are christened, others married, and others buried.
Isabella was obliged to wear mourning for that which is called death, and thus closely met together the grave and the bridal bed, mourning and mirth.
Four days more did our pilgrims remain in Lucca, and they were hospitably entertained by the newly-married pair, and the noble Juan Baptista Marulo. And here the author ends the third book of his history.
