"You can go if you like, but I shall leave Florence tonight."

When I got home I told my landlord to get me a carriage and to order four
post-horses for nightfall, and I then wrote the following letter to the
grand duke:

"My Lord; The thunder which Jove has placed in your hands is only for the
guilty; in launching it at me you have done wrong. Seven months ago you
promised that I should remain unmolested so long as I obeyed the laws. I
have done so scrupulously, and your lordship has therefore broken your
word. I am merely writing to you to let you know that I forgive you, and
that I shall never give utterance to a word of complaint. Indeed I would
willingly forget the injury you have done me, if it were not necessary
that I should remember never to set foot in your realms again. The
magistrate tells me that I can go and see you at Pisa, but I fear such a
step would seem a hardy one to a prince, who should hear what a man has
to say before he condemns him, and not afterwards.

"I am, etc."

When I had finished the letter I sent it to the magistrate, and then I
began my packing.

I was sitting down to dinner when Medini came in cursing Zen and
Zanovitch, whom he accused of being the authors of his misfortune, and of
refusing to give him a hundred sequins, without which he could not
possibly go.

"We are all going to Pisa," said he, "and cannot imagine why you do not
come, too."