looked like
some ugly giant out of a fairy-tale, and his sullen eyes were full of
mischief. He came hard by Messer Dante, and spoke to him roughly. "I do
not care to see you and that flower in fellowship."

Now both Guido and I feared that this might breed a quarrel, so we
lingered, and Messer Simone's people drew together, watching their lord,
and some that were passing paused to note what was toward. But Messer
Dante lifted his head very quietly, and looked calmly into Simone's
angry face and spoke him seemingly fair. "The world is wide, friend," he
said, very smoothly; "you have but to turn the corner, and I and my
flower will no longer vex your vision."

But Simone was not to be so put off. "I have a mind to wear that rose
myself," he said, savagely, and he came a little nearer to Dante as he
spoke, and his followers dogged his advance, ready to obey his orders.

He looked so big and so strong and so brutal by the side of our friend
that I was ill at ease, for I knew well what a truculent ruffian this
Simone was.

But Dante seemed to be no more troubled than he would have been by the
buzzing of a wasp. "Then you had better change your mind speedily," he
answered, in an even voice, "lest being crossed in a peevish whim sour
your blood."

Now, the being spoken to so sweetly, and yet with words that had so
little of sweetness in them and no fear at all, teased Messer Simone's
black blood till it bubbled like boiling pitch, and his voice had got a
kind of silly scream in it, as he cried: "Why, you damnable reader of
books, you pitiful clerk, do you think I will bandy words with you? Give
me that rose instantly, or I will cut out your heart and eat it!"

Dante was still unruffled, and answered him very suavely, "If you cut
out my heart you would still find the rose in it and the name of earth's
loveliest lady."

Now at this Messer Simone's face showed as red as an old roof-tile, and
his voice was hoarse with anger as he called, furiously, "Give me the
flower!"

For a breathing while Dante made him no answer, while he gathered the
rose carefully together in the cup of his hand and then slipped it into
his bosom. Then he spoke to Simone with a grave impatience. "You are a
boisterous braggart, and you scream like the east wind. I am very weary
of you."

Simone slapped his big hand to the hilt of his sword. "Patter an Ave
quickly," he growled, "ere I slay you with the sight of a drawn sword."

It was such a men