"Ay! for my part I wish I was out of it all,
one way or other. If it were not for Caterina,
I would not cross the street to avoid the
murrain."

"My dear friend, don't let the Signora Caterina
stand in your way in the matter. Here I
am to renew my proposal and receive your
answer. I offer Caterina a sure and comfortable
home, and a respectable position at my death.
Have you made your reflections? Is it to be a
match?"

"Of course, illustrissimo Signore Giustino,the
proposal of such an alliance is too great an
honour for our poor house; and most true it is
that in such a time it would be an unspeakable
comfort to settle my poor motherless girl so
unexceptionably. But pardon me if I allude to one
circumstance that causes me some misgiving. Il
Signore Bartolommeo, your excellent son! Do you
think that his residence with so young a mother-in-law
would—that is, might, perhaps—"

"Caro mio! what are you dreaming of?
Assuredly I should never ask Caterina to live
in the house with Bartolommeo. But hark, in
your ear. I am tired of living in the house with
him myself. Out he goes, and that to-morrow.
And after all it will not be much difference to
him, for he well-nigh lives at the pothouse as it
is. No, no! Put Bartolommeo quite out of
the question."

"Honestly, most respected sir, under other
circumstances, I might have wished— certainly
not a more honourable establishment for my
poor Caterina; indeed, we never could have
aspired to such an alliance— but, to speak
frankly, a husband more of her own time of
life. She is not yet sixteen, la poveretta!"
added the father, with a heavy sigh; "but
paying due attention to the just reflections your
worship has put before me, I do think that I
cannot do better for my poor girl than accept
your honourable and flattering proposals."

"Basta! that's settled, then. And now, my
poor Pasquale, is it not a comfort to think that
you may die in peace of the plague to-morrow,
and leave Caterina well provided for?"

"Signore, it is a comfort. She is all I have
left; and she was always, as your worship
knows, the sunbeam in our poor house; as
good a girl, Signor Giustino, as ever father and
mother had—docile, obedient, gentle, loving,
modest, always contented to be at home, never
gadding after admiration; and you know, Signor
Giustino, whether she has had temptation in
that line! A good girl, Signor Canacci, a good
girl; and I trust she may make a dutiful wife."

"I doubt it not, my friend! A home-keeping
daughter will make a home-keeping wife; and
that is what I want. Now I will go straight to
Messer Jacopo Buonaccorsi, and tell him to prepare
the contract. We won't lose time, for who
knows how much we may have of it? When
shall I come and have a talk with Caterina?"

"To-night after the Ave Maria, if you will,
Ser Giustino."

"Hum! . . . . after the Ave Maria? . . . .
I like to be at home, with my doors well shut
and bolted, after the Ave Maria, friend Pasquale.
It's not good walking in the streets after sundown
now-a-days in Florence. Suppose we say
to-morrow, at this hour?"
"At your pleasure, Signor Giustino. Caterina
shall expect you at mid-day to-morrow."

"God have you then in his keeping, my good
Pasquale, till this time to-morrow."

"Signor Giustino, I kiss your hands. At
this hour to-morrow."

And so the ruined dyer and his proposed
son-in-law parted.

As soon as the latter was out of sight, Pasquale
Bassi rose slowly from his seat, and walked
with downcast eyes and thoughtful brow towards
the desolate home in a neighbouring
street, where Caterina was expecting his midday
return from the workshop, to announce to
her the destiny that awaited her. But it must not
be imagined from the poor dyer's evident heavy-
heartedness, that his care was caused by any
such feelings as might be supposed to darken the
heart of an English nineteenth-century father,
about to make a similar communication to his
daughter. It was rather the general aspect of the
times and his own imminent ruin that caused
the Florentine father's melancholy. Few such,
probably, in his position would have admitted,
even to the extent Pasquale Bassi had in his
conversation with Canacci, that a younger
bridegroom would have been more desirable
than a match with a patrician living in his own
house and independently on his own means. The
prevailing feelings and ideas with regard to
marriage were such, and similar unions were so
far from rare, that none of the repugnance was
likely to be felt, either by the girl thus sold or
by her family, which a similar proposal would
excite in a sounder and healthier state of society.

So, when Pasquale Bassi reached the still decent
but sadly desolate home, from which two
of its inmates had recently been snatched by
the pestilence, and much of its material plenishing
carried off by the distress arising from it, and
found poor Caterina sitting in solitude at the
window waiting for him, the news he brought her
produced none of the emotion which differently
situated and differently bred damsels might have
felt. She was sitting disconsolately enough, with
her distaff at her shoulder and the spindle between
her fingers; but they had forgotten to
twirl it. Her head had fallen on her bosom,
and her mind was busy with the utter hopelessness
of the prospect before and around her.

"Caterina, my child," said the father, "I
have had Messer Giustino with me. He came
for my answer; and he is to be here at mid-day
to-morrow. He has now gone to his lawyer to
order the contract to be prepared. My child!
my child!" added he, after a long pause, "God
grant that it may be well with thee!"

"But, father! that horrible man—that son of
his— that Bartolommeo!"

"I spoke of that, my Caterina; and Ser Giustino
said that he would no longer live in the
house—that he himself could not live with him."

"Ah! that is a great point gained, my dearest