"Thou, the immaculate! And for whom is so much purity sullied? For an angel?"
"You fancied it was the Holy Spirit?"—"Yes, the dove pecked my lips and I opened my lips and I gave him the end of my tongue. I speak of the past. It was very pleasant and I have always wanted to begin again."
"Ah! Virgin, fie, you lie like a woman. Doves have no such large wings."—"They are the wings of my mantle."
"Ah? Virgin! Fie! doves have not light feathers."—"But they have, they have! And besides they are not light, figliuolo, they are shot-color."
Such aplomb confused Delia Preda. What! a Virgin in whom he had placed his whole confidence, sub tuum praesidium!
The colloquy was resumed in this fashion:
"Ah! Virgin! Fie! think of your family, think of your chaste spouse! think of your son! think of God the father! Do you wish to dishonor the creator of heaven and earth? What will become of us, if you awaken his wrath? It is always on us, poor mortals, that his wrath falls, and we will have the plague again."—"Ecce ancilla Domini! my friend. I am under the orders of the Most High, and what if it pleases him to send me an angel?"
Della Preda did not know what reply to make, for he was too religious to question the eternal decrees. He contented himself with remarking to the madonna that if the Most High had sent her an angel, it was not apparently to have love with him.
"Ah! Good Lord!" the Novella cried.
"Moreover," continued Delia Preda, "I am at peace, for the angels have no sex. It is merely play. Ah, well! the question is controverted."