change. A pair of ragged breeches, swathes of cloth on her legs, an old shirt, a cloak of patched clouts, shapeless hat of felt, sandals for her feet, shod staff for her hand—behold the peerless Ippolita, idol of half Padua, turned into a sheepish overgrown boy in tatters, whose bathing could only have been in sweat, and the scent of his garments the rankness of goats. On the floor in a shining heap lay the silk robes, the chains and jewels, only witness with Annina of what had been done. That same Annina clasped in her arms the tall boy.
"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she said, half sobbing, "if any ill should come of this I shall kill myself."
"No ill will come, Nannina, believe me," replied Ippolita, quite calm. "You are sure they expect me?"
"I see them on the riviera now. Slip into the boat. I will put you across."
On the other bank, Ippolita was received by the herd-boys, all agog to see the champion who had killed the Jew.
"Addio, Silvestro," said Annina, keeping up the play.
"Addio, Nannina," said Silvestro, with a chuckle.
"Are we ready, boys?" Petruccio called out, turning about him. "We must be careful what we're doing."
"Hist, Silvestro," whispered one, with a nudge; "did he bleed much?"
"Cosa terribile—a flood!" Silvestro spread out his hands.
