ial thoughts. Brancaleone would have liked to wring his neck, but
both his hands were occupied by the staff of the canopy; and besides, the
king was present.

At last they were drawing nearer to the church of St. Clara, where the
Neapolitan kings were buried, and where several princesses of the blood,
exchanging the crown for the veil, have gone to bury themselves alive.
The nuns, novices, and abbess, hidden behind shutters, were throwing
flowers upon the procession. A bunch fell at the feet of the Prince of
Brancaleone.

"Trespolo, pick up that nosegay," said the prince, so audibly that his
servant had no further excuse. "It is from Sister Theresa," he added, in
a low voice; "constancy is only to be found, nowadays, in a convent."

Trespolo picked up the nosegay and came towards his master, looking like
a man who was being strangled.

"Who is that girl?" the latter asked him shortly.

"Which one?" stammered the servant.

"Forsooth! The one walking in front of us."

"I don't know her, my lord."

"You must find out something about her before this evening."

"I shall have to go rather far afield."

"Then you do know her, you intolerable rascal! I have half a mind to
have you hanged like a dog."

"For pity's sake, my lord, think of the salvation of your soul, of your
eternal life."

"I advise you to think of your temporal life. What is her name?"

"She is called Nisida, and is the prettiest girl in the island that she
is named after. She is innocence itself. Her father is only a poor
fisherman, but I can assure your excellency that in his island he is
respected like a king."

"Indeed!" replied the prince, with an ironical smile. "I must own, to my
great shame, that I have never visited the little island of Nisida. You
will have a boat ready for me to-morrow, and then we will see."

He interrupted himself suddenly, for the king was looking at him; and
calling up the most sonorous bass notes that he could find in the depths
of his throat, he continued with an inspired air, "Genitori genitoque
laus et jubilatio."

"Amen," replied the serving-man in a ringing voice.

Nisida, the beloved daughter of Solomon, the fisherman, was, as we have
said, the loveliest flower of the island from which she derived her name.
That island is the most charming spot, the most delicious nook with which
we are acquainted; it is a basket of greenery set delicately amid the
pure and transparent waters of the gulf, a hi