the likeness of her son seemed so natural to a
mother and so flattering to me that I readily consented to oblige her,
being the more content to do so that I found myself extremely well
lodged and nourished in one of the dependencies of the villa, with the
suite of noble attendants appointed to wait upon the Duchess.

Among these I have cause to remember with the utmost vividness a
beautiful page, the grandson of Cardinal Farnese, who waited upon
Margaret as her train-bearer. This boy's name was Ottavio, and I was
drawn to him from the first for his character matched the exceeding
loveliness of his lineaments.

Monna Afra from some strange whim had desired me to copy the Duke's
portrait upon glass, and thinking possibly that I might break the slip,
had given me two of precisely the same size. On one of these I was
impelled to paint for myself the miniature of this adorable child in the
court costume of white satin doublet and white silk hose which he was to
wear at the wedding of the Duchess. To this circumstance was due a
mischance, which while it seemed to work me ill at the time was in the
end productive of good.

Though but a child in years the soul of the page, Ottavio Farnese, was
well-nigh ravished from his body with love for the Duchess, who but six
years older than himself was still but a slip of a girl. Often as I saw
these two children pelting each other with roses and playing many
childish games I wished that by some enchantment I might keep them thus
forever, for my heart revolted at the thought that this exquisite
creature was soon to be sacrificed to a brutal profligate twice her own
age.

"Certes," I said one day to Ottavio, "it is a great pity that you are
not some ten years older, then would I devote myself to your service and
it should go hard ere the daughter of Charles V. should wed with that
swine of an Alessandro de' Medici."

"Is he indeed a hog?" cried the boy, "then will I slay him, for I would
gladly give my life for her."

Seeing that so precocious and so pure an affection was beyond the
conception of our comrades (though not of the ancients since they
figured the love of the boy Cupid for Psyche), I protected Ottavio from
their ribaldry, declaring that I would punish with my sword any who made
a jest of a devotion which might have drawn tears from the angels.

While the Duchess Margaret was in her way equally charming, she was not
of such a heavenly gravity as her little comrade. On t