Then Beatrice shook her head and tried to wear an air of severity, but
failed because she could not help smiling. "The arrows of your wit must
not take me for their target," she said, and made a pretence to frown.
Then Dante, at a loss what to say, made the best plea he could when he
pleaded, "Pity me."
At that cry the growing gravity on the girl's face softened to her
familiar gentleness, for she was touched, as all women who are worthy of
womanhood must be touched by that divine appeal. "Are you in need of
pity?" she said, softly.