considered what I should do. At first I intended to have the cloak
cried, as if I had found it: on reflection, however, I thought the
owner might send another person for it, and that I might still have no
clue to the discovery. While thus considering, I looked at the cloak
more narrowly; It was of heavy Genoese reddish purple velvet, edged
with Astracan fur, and richly embroidered with gold. The sight of this
splendid cloak suggested an idea to me, which I resolved to execute. I
carried it to my shop, and exposed it for sale, but set upon it so high
a price, that I felt sure I should not find a purchaser. My object in
this was to look closely at every person who might ask the price; for I
thought I could discover, among a thousand, the figure of the stranger,
which after the loss of the cloak had shown itself to me distinctly,
though but for a moment. Many came desirous of buying the cloak, the
extraordinary beauty of which attracted every eye, but no one had the
remotest resemblance to the stranger, and none would pay for it the
high price of two-hundred zechinos. What struck me most was, that all
whom I asked whether they had ever seen such a cloak in Florence
before, replied in the negative, assuring me they had never seen such
costly and tasteful work.

As evening approached, a young man came who had often been in my shop,
and had also during the day made a handsome offer for it. He threw a
purse of zechinos on the table, saying, "By Heavens, Zuleukos I must
have your cloak, though it will beggar me!" At these words he counted
down the gold. I was greatly embarrassed, having only exposed the
cloak for sale in hopes of attracting the looks of its owner, and now
comes a young madcap to pay the exorbitant price. But what could I do?
I yielded; for the idea was pleasing of being so handsomely recompensed
for my nocturnal adventure. The young man put on the cloak and went
away; but returned at the door, as he took off a paper which was
fastened to it, threw it to me, and said, "Here, Zaleukos is something
which I think does not belong to the cloak." I took the paper
carelessly, when behold! it contained these words:

"Bring the cloak to night at the usual hour to the Ponte Vecchio, and
four hundred zechinos shall be yours." I was thunderstruck. Thus then
I had trifled with my good luck, and utterly missed my aim; but I soon
recovered, took the two-hundred zechinos, followed him, and said, "Take
back your