leapt easily
ashore.

"Well, knave," he cried, "are my looks to your taste?"

"Your lordship is perfect."

"I flatter myself I am. It is true that, in order to make the
transformation complete, I chose the very oldest coat that displayed its
rags in a Jew's shop."

"Your lordship looks like a heathen god engaged in a love affair. Jupiter
has sheathed his thunderbolts and Apollo has pocketed his rays."

"A truce to your mythology. And, to begin with, I forbid you to call me
'your lordship.'"

"Yes, your lordship."

"If my information that I have procured during the day is correct, the
house must be on the other side of the island, in a most remote and
lonely spot. Walk at a certain distance, and do not trouble yourself
about me, for I know my part by heart."

The young Prince of Brancaleone, whom, in spite of the darkness of the
night, our readers will already have recognised, advanced towards the
fisherman's house, with as little noise as possible, walked up and down
several times upon the shore, and, after having briefly reconnoitred the
place that he wished to attack, waited quietly for the moon to rise and
light up the scene that he had prepared. He was not obliged to exercise
his patience very long, for the darkness gradually disappeared, and
Solomon's little house was bathed in silvery light. Then he approached
with timid steps, lifted towards the casement a look of entreaty, and
began to sigh with all the power of his lungs. The young girl, called
suddenly from her meditations by the appearance of this strange person,
raised herself sharply and prepared to close the shutters.

"Stay, charming Nisida!" cried the prince, in the manner of a man
overcome by irresistible passion.

"What do you want with me, signor?" answered the maiden, amazed to hear
herself called by name.

"To adore you as a Madonna is adored, and to make you aware of my sighs."

Nisida looked at him steadily, and, after a moment or two of reflection,
asked suddenly, as though in response to some secret thought, "Do you
belong to this country, or are you a foreigner?"

"I arrived in this island," replied the prince without hesitation, "at
the moment when the sun was writing his farewell to the earth and dipping
the rays that serves as his pen into the shadow that serves as his
inkstand."

"And who are you?" returned the young girl, not at all understanding
these strange words.

"Alas! I am but a poor student, but I may be