Dianora. The voice—
Nurse. But his eyes are like Messer Guido Schio, the nephew of our gracious lord.
Dianora [is silent].
Nurse. I met him on the stairs yesterday—he stopped—
Dianora [suddenly flaring up]. Messer Palla?
Nurse. No! Our gracious lord. He ordered me to make some ointment. His wound is not yet entirely healed.
Dianora. Oh, yes! The horse's bite—did he show it to you?
Nurse. Yes—the back of the hand is quite healed, but on the palm there's a small dark spot, a curious spot, such as I've never seen in a wound—
Dianora. What horse did it, I wonder?
Nurse. The big roan, gracious Lady.