V., which had the property of growing dim the moment it approached any poisonous substance.  He did not fail to make trial of it on the tart prepared by Bianca.  The opal grew dim and tarnished.  The Cardinal said, with an assumed air of carelessness, that, on consideration, he would not eat to-day of the tart.  The Duke pressed him; but not being able to prevail—­’Well,’ said he, ’since Ferdinand will not eat of his favourite dish, it shall not be said that a Grand-duchess had turned confectioner for nothing—­I will eat of it.’  And he helped himself to a piece of the tart.

“Bianca was in the act of bending forward to prevent him—­but suddenly paused.  Her position was horrible.  She must either avow her crime, or suffer her husband to poison himself.  She cast a quick retrospective glance along her past life; she saw that she had exhausted all the pleasures of the world, and attained to all its glories; her decision was rapid—­as rapid as on that day when she had fled from Venice with Pietro.  She also cut off a piece from the tart, and extending her hand to her husband, she smiled, and, with her other hand, eat of the poisoned dish.

“On the morrow, Francesco and Bianca were dead.  A physician opened their bodies by order of Ferdinand, and declared that they had fallen victims to a malignant fever.  Three days after, the Cardinal threw down his red hat, and ascended the ducal throne.”—­P. 63.

But presto!  Mr Dumas is traveller as well as annalist He must leave the Middle Ages to themselves; the present moment has its exigences; he must look to himself and his baggage.  He had great difficulty in doing this on his landing at the Port of Livorno; and now, on his departure, he is beset with vetturini.  Let us recur to some of these miseries of travel, which may at least claim a wide sympathy, for most of us are familiar with them.  It is not necessary even to leave our own island to find how great an embarrassment too much help may prove, but we certainly have nothing in our own experience quite equal to the lively picture of M. Dumas:—­

“I have visited many ports—­I have traversed many towns—­I have contended with the porters of Avignon—­with the facchini of Malta, and with the innkeepers of Messina, but I never entered so villanous a place as Livorno.

“In every other country of the world there is some possibility of defending your baggage, of bargaining for its transport to the hotel; and if no treaty can be made, there is at least liberty given to load your own shoulders with it, and be your own porter.  Nothing of this kind at Livorno.  The vessel which brings you has not yet touched the shore when it is boarded; commissionnaires absolutely rain upon you, you know not whence; they spring upon the jetty, throw themselves on the nearest vessel, and glide down upon you from the rigging.  Seeing that your little craft is