"O my lady, shall a Fool's fond dream come true,
or am I mad indeed? Thou in thy beauty and I--"
"Thou, Joconde," said she, fronting him with head proudly uplift, "to my
thought thou art man greater, nobler than any proud lord or mighty duke
soever. And thou hast loved and wooed as never man wooed, methinks. And
thou art so brave and strong and so very gentle and--thus it is--I do love
thee."
"But my--my motley habit, my--"
"Thy cap of Folly, Joconde, these garments pied thou hast dignified by thy
very manhood, so are they dearer to me than lordly tire or knightly armour.
And thy jingling bells--ah, Joconde, the jingle of thy bells hath waked
within my heart that which shall never die--long time my heart hath cried
for thee, and I, to my shame, heeded not the cry, wherefore here and now,
thus upon my knees, I do most humbly confess my love."
"Thy love, Yolande--for me? Then dost truly love me? Oh, here is marvel
beyond my understanding and belief."
"Why, Joconde, ah, why?"
"See!" he cried, flinging back his head.
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