Moreover, the little that kept us from starving came from--those
women; and it was hateful to owe them even for a little bread.
So I felt then. Afterwards--But you shall hear; only turn away your
eyes. I prayed to the Virgin, but my prayers seemed to get no clear
answer. . . . Then I pulled a staple from the wall, and with the
point of it prised out one of the jewels, an amethyst. . . . I had
spoken already to Gioconda. That evening she brought me one of her
dresses, with shoes, stockings, and underskirt; a mirror, too, and
brush and comb, with paints, powders, and black stuff for the
eye-lashes, all in the same bundle, which she passed up through the
floor. I dressed myself, painted my face, tired my hair, till I
looked like even such a woman as Gioconda; and then, letting myself
down at dark by a rope made of the sheet I drew from under you, I ran
through the streets to the quarter of the merchants. La Gioconda had
forgotten to pack a cloak in the bundle; the night was snowing, with
snow underfoot; and I had run past the quays before the fear struck
me that, at so late an hour, the jewellers would have closed their
shops.
Pages:
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607