"Not precisely, my good woman, but to my master."
"And who is your master, if I may ask, young man? Some great foreign nobleman, no doubt?"
"Better than that, Dame Perrine,—a great artist, come hither from Florence, expressly to serve his Most Christian Majesty."
"Aha!" said the good woman, who did not understand very well; "what does your master make?"
"What does he make? Why, he makes everything: rings to put on maidens' fingers; ewers to put upon kings' tables; statues to place in the temples of the gods; and in his leisure moments he besieges or defends cities, as his caprice leads him to cause an emperor to tremble, or to reassure a pope."
"Jésus Dieu!" cried Dame Perrine: "what is your master's name?"
"His name is Benvenuto Cellini."
"It's strange that I don't know that name," muttered the duenna; "what is his profession?"
"He is a goldsmith."
Dame Perrine gazed wonderingly at Ascanio.