the beautiful maiden whom you wounded with the hairpin? Know you that
this is the pretty dove which you ordered to be killed and cooked in a
stewpan? What say you now? It is all your own doing; and one who does
ill may expect ill in return." So saying, he ordered the slave to be
seized and cast alive on to a large burning pile of wood; and her ashes
were thrown from the top of the castle to all the winds of Heaven,
verifying the truth of the saying that--

"He who sows thorns should not go barefoot."

XXXII

CONCLUSION

All sat listening to Ciommetella's last story. Some praised the skill
with which she had told it, while others murmured at her indiscretion,
saying that, in the presence of the Princess, she ought not to have
exposed to blame the ill-deeds of another slave, and run the risk of
stopping the game. But Lucia herself sat upon thorns, and kept turning
and twisting herself about all the time the story was being told;
insomuch that the restlessness of her body betrayed the storm that was
in her heart, at seeing in the tale of another slave the exact image of
her own deceit. Gladly would she have dismissed the whole company, but
that, owing to the desire which the doll had given her to hear stories,
she could not restrain her passion for them. And, partly also not to
give Taddeo cause for suspicion, she swallowed this bitter pill,
intending to take a good revenge in proper time and place. But Taddeo,
who had grown quite fond of the amusement, made a sign to Zoza to
relate her story; and, after making her curtsey, she began--

"Truth, my Lord Prince, has always been the mother of hatred, and I
would not wish, therefore, by obeying your commands, to offend any one
of those about me. But as I am not accustomed to weave fictions or to
invent stories, I am constrained, both by nature and habit, to speak
the truth; and, although the proverb says, Tell truth and fear nothing,
yet knowing well that truth is not welcome in the presence of princes,
I tremble lest I say anything that may offend you."

"Say all you wish," replied Taddeo, "for nothing but what is sweet can
come from those pretty lips."

These words were stabs to the heart of the Slave, as all would have
seen plainly if black faces were, as white ones, the book of the soul.
And she would have given a finger of her hand to have been rid of these
stories, for all before her eyes had grown blacker even than her face.
She feared that the last s