‘Who is Ser Francesco?’ he asked, in a low voice.
‘Ser Canonico,’ she answered.
‘Of what Duomo?’ continued he.
‘Who knows?’ was the reply; ‘but he is Padrone’s heart’s friend, for certain.’
‘Cospetto di Bacco! It can then be no other than Petrarca. He makes rhymes and love like the devil. Don’t listen to him, or you are undone. Does he love you too, as well as Padrone?’ he asked, still lowering his voice.
‘I cannot tell that matter,’ she answered, somewhat impatiently; ‘but I love him.’
‘To my face!’ cried he, smartly.
‘To the Santissima!’ replied she, instantaneously; ‘for have not I told your Reverence he is Padrone’s true heart’s friend! And are not you my confessor, when you come on purpose?’
‘True, true!’ answered he; ‘but there are occasions when we are shocked by the confession, and wish it made less daringly.’
‘I was bold; but who can help loving him who loves my good Padrone?’ said she, much more submissively.