"
Lapo Cercamorte laughed loud; but his laugh was the bark of a hyena,
and his eyes were balls of fire.
"No! with these legs and ringlets? Come here, Baldo. Here is a girl
who says she is a man. What do you say, to speak only of this pretty
skin of hers?"
And with his big hand suddenly he ripped open Raffaele's tunic half
way to the waist, exposing the fair white flesh. The troubadour,
though quivering with shame and rage, remained motionless, staring
at the great sword that hung in its scarlet sheath from Lapo's
harness.
Old one-eyed Baldo, plucking his master by the elbow, whispered:
"Take care, Cercamorte. His brother Nicolotto is your ally. Since
after all, nothing much has happened, do not carry the offence too
far."
"Are you in your dotage?" Lapo retorted, still glaring with a
dreadful interest at Raffaele's flesh. "Do you speak of giving
offence, when all I desire is to be as courteous as my uneducated
nature will allow? She must pardon me that slip of the hand; I meant
only to stroke her cheek in compliment but instead I tore her dress.
Yet I will be a proper courtier to her still. Since she is now set
on going home, I myself, alone, will escort her clear to the forest,
in order to set her upon the safe road.
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