ver did the like betide me with any woman; nay, I
have said whiles, "Were women of silver, they would not be worth a
farthing, for that not one of them would stand the hammer." But let
that pass for the present. When and where can we be together?' Whereto
quoth the lady, 'Sweet my lord, as for the when, it may be what time
soever most pleaseth us, for that I have no husband to whom it
behoveth me render an account of my nights; but for the where I know
not how to contrive.' 'How?' cried the priest. 'Why, in your house to
be sure.' 'Sir,' answered the lady, 'you know I have two young
brothers, who come and go about the house with their companions day
and night, and my house is not overbig; wherefore it may not be there,
except one chose to abide there mute-fashion, without saying a word or
making the least sound, and be in the dark, after the manner of the
blind. An you be content to do this, it might be, for they meddle not
with my bedchamber; but their own is so close to mine that one cannot
whisper the least word, without its being heard.' 'Madam,' answered
the rector, 'this shall not hinder us for a night or two, against I
bethink me where we may foregather more at ease.' Quoth she, 'Sir, let
that rest with you; but of one thing I pray you, that this abide
secret, so no word be ever known thereof.' 'Madam,' replied he, 'have
no fear for that; but, an it may be, make shift that we shall
foregather this evening.' 'With all my heart,' said the lady; and
appointing him how and when he should come, she took leave of him and
returned home.

Now she had a serving-wench, who was not overyoung, but had the
foulest and worst-favoured visnomy was ever seen; for she had a nose
flattened sore, a mouth all awry, thick lips and great ill-set teeth;
moreover, she inclined to squint, nor was ever without sore eyes, and
had a green and yellow complexion, which gave her the air of having
passed the summer not at Fiesole, but at Sinigaglia.[378] Besides all
this, she was hipshot and a thought crooked on the right side. Her
name was Ciuta, but, for that she had such a dog's visnomy of her own,
she was called of every one Ciutazza;[379] and for all she was
misshapen of her person, she was not without a spice of roguishness.
The lady called her and said to her, 'Harkye, Ciutazza, an thou wilt
do me a service this night. I will give thee a fine new shift.'
Ciutazza, hearing speak of the shift, answered, 'Madam, so you give me
a shift, I wi