Petrarca. Absurdity! impossibility!
Boccaccio. He won her fairly; strangely, and on a strange table, as he played his game. Listen! that guitar is Monna Tita’s. Listen! what a fine voice (do not you think it?) is Amadeo’s.
Amadeo. [Singing.]
Oh, I have err’d!
I laid my hand upon the nest
(Tita, I sigh to sing the rest)
Of the wrong bird.
Petrarca. She laughs too at it! Ah! Monna Tita was made by nature to live on this side of Fiesole.
BOSSUET AND THE DUCHESS DE FONTANGES
Bossuet. Mademoiselle, it is the king’s desire that I compliment you on the elevation you have attained.
Fontanges. O monseigneur, I know very well what you mean. His Majesty is kind and polite to everybody. The last thing he said to me was, ‘Angélique! do not forget to compliment Monseigneur the bishop on the dignity I have conferred upon him, of almoner to the dauphiness. I desired the appointment for him only that he might be of rank sufficient to confess, now you are duchess. Let him be your confessor, my little girl.’
Bossuet. I dare not presume to ask you, mademoiselle, what was your gracious reply to the condescension of our royal master.