A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. . ’ ‘Pah! You can never be Valade. Wood. You wore a blue dress with your hair unbound, and never had I seen a maid so glorious with eyes so blue or a smile so bright. If he got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene. She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. He seemed to be thinking hard.
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