"de Musset, Alfred - Tizianello" - читать интересную книгу автора (Musset Alfred De)

you so cleverly threw on to my balcony."
"Oh! Your Excellency, I do not think so."
"I know it; do not try to excuse yourself. It is she herself who told me."
"If she told you..." answered the negress in a hesitating manner. She shrugged
her shoulders and thought for a moment. Then, giving Pippo a light tap on the
cheek with her fan and running away, she cried:
"My fine gentleman, you have been tricked." The streets in Venice form a
labyrinth so complicated, they cross in so many different ways, in such a
various and unexpected way, that Pippo, after having let the young girl escape,
could not find her again. He felt very embarrassed, for he had made two
mistakes, the first in giving his purse to Bianchina, the second in not keeping
the negress. Chancing to enter the town without being aware of it he went toward
the palace of the Signora Dorothee, his godmother. He was sorry he had not made
her the visit he had planned some days before. He was accustomed to consult her
on everything that interested him and rarely had recourse to her without
learning something.
He found her alone in the garden, and after having kissed her hand, remarked:
"My dear godmother, think of the foolishness of which I have just been capable.
Not long ago, I received a purse..." But hardly had he said these words, when
the Signora Dorothee began to laugh, "Well," said she, "is not the purse pretty?
Do you find the golden flowers look well on the red velvet?"
"What!" cried the young man, "is it possible you know of this?"
At this moment, several senators entered the garden. The venerable lady rose to
receive them and made no answer to the questions that Pippo, in his
astonishment, continued to ask her.
CHAPTER III
WHEN the senators had left, the Signora Dorothee, in spite of her godson's
prayers and importunity, absolutely refused to say more. She was annoyed that a
sudden moment of mirth had made her acknowledge that she knew the secret of an
adventure with which she wished to have nothing to do. Pippo still insisted.
"My dear child," said she, "all I can say is that it is true that I might be
rendering you a service by giving you the name of the person who embroidered
that purse for you, for she is assuredly one of the most noble and beautiful
ladies in Venice. Let this be sufficient. In spite of my wish to oblige you, I
must be silent. I will not betray a secret which I alone possess and which I
could not tell you, unless requested to, for I could then honorably do so."
"Honorably, my dear godmother? But can you think that in confiding to me
only..."
"I understand," answered the old lady. And as, despite her dignity, she could
not help a little sarcasm, she added: "Since you sometimes write poetry, why not
make this the subject of your verses?"
Seeing that he could find out nothing, Pippo put an end to his questions. But
his curiosity, as one may think, was excited to no small degree. He stayed to
dinner with the Pasqualigo, unable to make up his mind to leave his godmother
and hoping that his fair unknown might possibly call that night. But he saw only
senators, magistrates, and the most important men of the republic.
At sunset, the young man separated from the rest of the company and went and sat
down in a little grove. He thought of what he must do and determined on two
things: to make La Bianchina give up his purse, and to follow the advice that
the Signora Dorothee had laughingly given him, that is to say, to write a poem