y and cakes of maize.

Presently the Subtle Doctor, stretching out his arm, plucked a
scarlet-cheeked apple, bit into it and gave it to the holy man. And
Giovanni ate and drank; and his beard was all white with milk and his
eyes laughed as he gazed up at the sky, which filled them with blue
light and joy. And the girl smiled.

Then the Subtle Doctor said:

"Look at yonder child; she is far comelier than Monna Libetta."

And the holy man, intoxicated with milk and honey, and made merry with
the light of day, sang songs his mother was used to sing when she
carried him as a babe in her arms. They were songs of shepherds and
shepherdesses, and they spoke of love. And as the girl stood listening
on the threshold of the door, the holy man left his seat and ran
staggering towards her, took her in his arms and showered on her cheeks
kisses full of milk, laughter and joy.

And the Subtle Doctor having paid the reckoning, the two travellers hied
them toward the plain.

As they were walking between the silvery willows that border the water,
the holy man said:

"Let us sit; for now I am weary."

So they sat down beneath a willow, and watched the water-flags curling
their sword-like leaves on the river banks and the bright-coloured flies
flashing over the surface. But Giovanni's laughter was ceased, and his
face was sad.

And the Subtle Doctor asked him:

"Why are you so pensive?"

And Giovanni answered him:

"I have felt through you the sweet caress of living things, and I am
troubled at heart. I have tasted the milk and the honey. I have looked
on the servant-maid standing at the threshold and seen that she was
comely. And disquietude is in my soul and in my flesh.

"What a long road I have travelled since I have known you. Do you
remember the grove of holm-oaks where I saw you the first time? For be
sure, I recognize you.

"You it was visited me in my hermit's cell and stood before me with
woman's eyes sparkling through a transparent veil, while your alluring
mouth instructed me in the entanglements of Right and Wrong. Again it
was you appeared in the meadows clad in a golden cope, like an Ambrose
or an Augustine. Then I knew not the curse of thought; but you set me
thinking. You put pride like a coal of fire on my lips; and I learned to
speculate. But as yet, in the untrained freshness of my wit and raw
youthfulness of mind, I felt no doubt. But again you came to me, and
gave me uncertainty to feed on and doub