or of the night
with its music as her beauty enhanced its glory with the glory of her
bodily presence. "What have you to say to me," she asked, "that is so
urgent that it cannot wait for the day?"

At this question Dante seemed to pluck up some courage--not much,
indeed, but still a little; and he made bold to answer her after the
manner that is called symbolic, and this, or something like this, is
what he said:

"Madonna, I may compare myself to a man that is going on a journey very
instantly, and since no man that rides out of a gate can say to himself
very surely that he will ride in again, I have certain thoughts in my
heart that clamor to make themselves known to you, and will not by any
means be gainsaid if I can at all compass the way to utter them."

Beatrice smiled at him very kindly in the moonlight, for the youth in
his voice appealed very earnestly to the youth in her heart, and it may
be to a gaingiving that had also its lodging in her body and warned her
of youth's briefness.

While she smiled she spoke. "Many would say that I lacked modesty if
they knew that I talked with you thus belated and unknown, but I think
that I know you too well, though I know you so little, to have any doubt
of your honesty and well-meaning."

At the kindness in her voice and the confidence of her trust Dante
carried himself very straight and held his head very high for pride at
her words, and he was so strangely happy that he was amazed to find
himself even more happy than he had hoped to be in her presence.

With that blissful exaltation upon him, he addressed her again. "Lady,
when a traveller takes the road, if he has possessions, and if he be a
wise man, he makes him a will, which he leaves in safe hands, and he
sets all his poor affairs in order as well as may be. And he leaves this
possession to this kinsman, and that gift to that friend, till all that
he has is properly allotted, so that his affairs may be straight if evil
befall. But I, when I go upon a journey, have no greater estate than my
heart to bequeath." He paused for a moment, watching her wistfully, and
seeing that her face was changeless in the moonlight, showing no sign
either of impatience or of tolerance, he spoke again, in a very low
voice, asking her, "Have I your leave to go on with what I am hot to
say?"

"You may go on," Beatrice answered him, and her voice seemed calm as she
spoke.

But if Dante had known women better--if he had been like m