"I will marry you, Bellaroba," the boy replied, as he turned suddenly, put his arms about her and took a long kiss.
Bellaroba, in a bath of love, made him free of her lips. For a while the mule had to do his pacing alone.
"Oh, Angioletto, Angioletto," whispered the girl, with a hidden face, "I have never been happy like this before."
"You will never be unhappy again, dearest, for I shall be with you."
For the time there was no more talk, since the broken murmurs of their joy and wonder cannot be so described. The billing of two doves on an elm was not more artless than their converse on the mule's back.
The girl brought prose in again, as became a daughter of Venice. What had led Angioletto to Ferrara?
"The Blessed Virgin," he promptly replied, and she sighed a happy acquiescence in so pious a retort.
"But what else?"
For answer Angioletto drew a silk-bound letter from his breast. "This epistle," he said, "promises me employment and fame almost as certainly as you promise me bliss. It is from a Cardinal of my acquaintance to a noble lady of Ferrara, by name Lionella, daughter of Duke Borso himself, and wife to one Messer Guarino Guarini, a very great lord. The lady is patroness of all poets and minstrels. Consider our fortunes made, my joy."
"They must be made since you believe it,
