I told her it was the end. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. “I have never seen him in my life,” she said to the official. ’ ‘Don’t call me by name,’ she snapped. 23 She had always considered herself a simple wool maker’s daughter, but she began to realize that by marrying Gianfrancesco she had unwittingly gained entrance to a separate world. . The day was sunny and pleasant, devoid of chill winds.
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