“King George, my master,” continued Raoul, as he and Vito Viti walked from the quay toward the residence of Andrea Barrofaldi, “is particularly pointed on this subject, with us all, in his personal orders.  ‘Never enter a port of one of my allies, Smeet,’ he said, the very last time I took leave of him, ’without immediately hastening with your duty to the commandant of the place.  You never lose anything by being liberal in politeness; and England is too polished a country to be outdone in these things by even the Italians, the parents of modern civilization.’”

“You are happy in having such a sovrano, and still more so in being allowed to approach his sacred person.”

“Oh! as to the last, the navy is his pet; he considers us captains in particular as his children.  ‘Never enter London, my dear Smeet,’ he said to me, ’without coming to the palace, where you will always find a father’—­you know he has one son among us who was lately a captain, as well as myself.”

“San Stefano! and he the child of a great king!  I did not know that, I confess, Signore.”

“Why, it is a law in England that the king shall give at least one son to the marine.  ‘Yes,’ said his Majesty, ’always be prompt in calling on the superior authorities, and remember me benevolently and affectionately to them, one and all, even down to the subordinate magistrates, who live in their intimacy.’”

Raoul delighted in playing the part he was now performing, but he was a little addicted to over-acting it.  Like all exceedingly bold and decided geniuses, he was constantly striding across that step which separates the sublime from the ridiculous, and consequently ran no small hazard in the way of discovery.  But with Vito Viti he incurred little risk on this score, provincial credulity and a love of the marvellous coming in aid of his general ignorance, to render him a safe depository of anything of this sort that the other might choose to advance.  Vito Viti felt it to be an honor to converse with a man who, in his turn, had conversed with a king; and as he puffed his way up the steep ascent again he did not fail to express some of the feelings which were glowing in his breast.

“Is it not a happiness to serve such a prince?” he exclaimed—­“nay, to die for him!”

“The latter is a service I have not yet performed,” answered Raoul, innocently, “but which may one day well happen.  Do you not think, podesta, that he who lays down his life for his prince merits canonization?”

“That would fill the calendar too soon, in these wars, Signor Smees; but I will concede you the generals and admirals, and other great personages.  Si—­a general or an admiral who dies for his sovereign does deserve to be made a saint—­this would leave these miserable French republicans, Signore, without hope or honor!”

“They are canaille from the highest to the lowest, and can reasonably expect nothing better.  If they wish to be canonized, let them restore the Bourbons, and put themselves lawfully in the way of such a blessing.  The chase of this morning, Signor Vito Viti, must at least have amused the town?”