nvenuto Cellini."

Amelia did not look at the seal; she stretched out her hand toward the
mysterious packet, and giving a searching look at the jeweller, she
raised and opened it.

"A cup! a tin cup!" she exclaimed, in astonishment.

"As I remarked to your highness, a worthless object; unless the rare
beauty of the workmanship should give it some value. The carving is
indeed beautiful and most wonderful, when you know that it was done with
a common nail, and not even in daylight, but in the gloom and darkness
of a subterranean cell."

Amelia trembled so violently, that the cup almost fell from her hand.
The stranger did not remark her emotion, but went on quietly.

"Observe, your highness, how finely and correctly the outlines are
drawn; it is as artistically executed as the copperplate of a splendid
engraving. It is greatly to be regretted that we cannot take impressions
from this tin cup; they would make charming pictures. The sketches
are not only well executed, but they are thoughtfully and pathetically
conceived and illustrated with beautiful verses, which are worthy of a
place in any album. If your highness takes any interest in such trifles,
I beg you will take this to the light and examine it closely."

The princess did not answer: she stepped to the window, and turning her
back to the jeweller, looked eagerly at the cup.

It was, indeed, a masterpiece of art and industry. The surface was
divided by small and graceful arabesques into ten departments, each one
of which contained an enchanting and finely-executed picture. No chisel
could have drawn the lines more correctly or artistically, or produced
a finer effect of light and shade. Under each picture there was a
little verse engraved in such fine characters, that they could only be
deciphered with difficulty.

Amelia's eyes seemed to have recovered the strength and power of earlier
days. A youthful, vigorous soul lay in the glance which was fixed upon
this cup; she understood every thing.

There was a cage with an imprisoned bird; beneath this a verse:

"Ce n'est pas un moineau,
Garde dans cette cage,
C'est un de ces oiseaux,
Qui chantent dans L'orage.
Ouvrez, amis des sages,
Brisez fers et verroux;
Les chants dans vos bocages,
Rejailliront pour vous."

[Footnote: "This is not a sparrow
Kept in this cage.
It is one of those birds
Who sing in storms.
Open, friend of the wise,