Take  any  one  of  them ;  they  are  there  to  be  chosen. Cloth-
ing? "Do  you  know,  Don  Francesco,  how  small  a  part  of
the  person  the  laws  of  morality  compel  you  to  cover  ?  There
is  not  a  dust-box  in  Pistoja  but  will  give  you  a  new  suit  to
that  measure  every  day."  Food?  "Have  you  ever  asked
yourself,"  she  would  exclaim,  "how  many  pounds  of  bread
we  throw  to  the  dogs  in  the  week?  Enough  to  feed  fifty
packs  of  hounds."  Drink?  "It  streams  at  every  street
corner."  "Thus,"  she  would  conclude,  "are  our  necessities
suppUed. For  luxuries  we  have  the  sun  in  sheltered  cloisters,
the  rain  to  cleanse  the  ways  in  which  we  walk,  the  splendours
of  the  church  to  feast  our  eyes,  the  chances  and  changes  of
the  streets  and  taverns  to  keep  our  minds  alert. No,  no,


112  THE  FOOL   ERRANT

Don  Francis,"  quoth  she,  "let  them  sweat  and  grow  thin  who
must. We  arc  free."

I  could  not  admit  all  the  conclusions  of  this  philosophy,
though  I  was  not  concerned  to  dispute  them. But  Virginia's
theories  of  hfc  interested  me  extremely  and  her  ability  to  apply
them  was  extraordinary. Perhaps  I  was  by  predestination
a  vagabond,  and  no  doubt  she  was. All  I  can  say  is  that  if
I  myself  became  strong  and  healthy  on  those  terms,  Virginia
bloomed  like  a  wild  rose  and  seemed  to  grow  in  grace  under
my  eyes. She  devoted  herself  to  me  and  kept  me  in  excel-
lent order;  washed  my  shirt  and  stockings  at  the  fountain,
kept  my  clothes  neatly  mended,  buttons  on  my  vest ;  brushed
my  cloak,  clouted  my  shoes. She  was  not  inattentive  to  her
own  person  either. She  put  her  hair  up  into  a  coil  and  pinned
it  with  a  silver  comb,  kept  herself  clean,  and  wore  shoes  and
stockings. A  pair  of  stays  became  her  well,  and  a  loose
white  kerchief  for  her  bare  neck. She  showed  to  be  a  beauti-
ful girl. Her  eyes  lost  their  sombre  regard,  her  colour  cleared,
her  cheeks  took  rounder  curves. Where  she  got  her  clothes,
where  the  food  which  made  her  sleek,  where  the  happy  light
in  her  eyes,  were  mysteries  to  me. She  seldom  left  me,  she
showed  no  signs  of  having  been  at  work;  so  far  as  I  knew
she  had  no  friends  in  Pistoja  and  asked  no  extraordinary
charities. 