e! He never said it was I who was in danger.

_Frate._ He might: it was his duty.

_Assunta._ Am I so fat? Lord! you may feel every rib. Girls who run
about as I do, slip away from apoplexy.

_Frate._ Ho! ho! that is all, is it?

_Assunta._ And bad enough too! that such good-natured men should ever
grow so bulky; and stand in danger, as Padrone said they both do, of
such a seizure?

_Frate._ What? and art ready to cry about it? Old folks cannot die
easier: and there are always plenty of younger to run quick enough for
a confessor. But I must not trifle in this manner. It is my duty to
set your feet in the right way: it is my bounden duty to report to Ser
Giovanni all irregularities I know of, committed in his domicile. I
could indeed, and would, remit a trifle, on hearing the worst. Tell me
now, Assunta! tell me, you little angel! did you ... we all may, the
very best of us may, and do ... sin, my sweet?

_Assunta._ You may be sure I did not: for whenever I sin I run into
church directly, although it snows or thunders: else I never could see
again Padrone's face, or any one's.

_Frate._ You do not come to me.

_Assunta._ You live at San Vivaldo.

_Frate._ But when there is sin so pressing I am always ready to be
found. You perplex, you puzzle me. Tell me at once how he made you
blush.

_Assunta._ Well then!

_Frate._ Well then! you did not hang back so before him. I lose all
patience.

_Assunta._ So famous a man!...

_Frate._ No excuse in that.

_Assunta._ So dear to Padrone....

_Frate._ The more shame for him!

_Assunta._ Called me....

_Frate._ And _called_ you, did he! the traitorous swine!

_Assunta._ Called me ... _good girl_.

_Frate._ Psha! the wenches, I think, are all mad: but few of them in
this manner.

* * * * *

... Without saying another word, Fra Biagio went forward and opened
the bedchamber door, saying briskly:

'Servant! Ser Giovanni! Ser Canonico! most devoted! most obsequious! I
venture to incommode you. Thanks to God, Ser Canonico, you are looking
well for your years. They tell me you were formerly (who would believe
it?) the handsomest man in Christendom, and worked your way glibly,
yonder at Avignon.

'Capperi! Ser Giovanni! I never observed that you were sitting
bolt-upright in that long-backed armchair, instead of lying abed.
Quite in the right. I am rejoiced at such a change for the better. Who
advised it?'

_Boccaccio._ So many