When he was sensible that I had a clear perception of the occult
significance of his questions and answers, he went still further, and by
gestures, and mobile changes in the expression of his features, he would
make known to me his thoughts and the various phases of his passion,
which was to me a source of much delectation; and I strove so hard to
comprehend it all and to make fitting response thereunto, that neither
could he shadow forth anything to me, nor I to him, that either of us
did not at once understand.
Nay, not satisfied even with this, he employed other symbols and
metaphors, and labored earnestly to discipline me in such manner of
speech; and, to render me the more assured of his unalterable love, he
named me Fiammetta, and himself Panfilo. Woe is me! How often, when
warmed with love and wine, did we tell tales, in the presence of our
dearest friends, of Fiammetta and Panfilo, feigning that they were
Greeks of the days of old, I at one time, he at another; and the tales
were all of ourselves; how we were first caught in the snares of Love,
and of what tribulations we were long the victims, giving suitable names
to the places and persons connected with the story! Certainly, I
frequently laughed at it all, being made merry by the simplicity of the
bystanders, as well as by his astuteness and sagacity. Yet betimes I
dreaded that in the flush of his excitement he might thoughtlessly let
his tongue wander in directions wherein it was not befitting it should
venture.
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