expression of infinite beatitude and gentleness.  Nothing could be more perfect than the chin that completed the faultless oval of this radiant countenance; her neck of a dead white, joined her bosom in a delicious curve, and supported her head gracefully like the stalk of a flower moved by a gentle breeze.  A bodice of crimson velvet spotted with gold outlined her delicate and finely curved figure, and held in by means of a handsome gold lace the countless folds of a full and flowing skirt, that fell to her feet like those severe robes in which the Byzantine painters preferred to drape their angels.  She was indeed a marvel, and so rare and modest of beauty had not been seen within the memory of man.

Among those who had gazed most persistently at her was observed the young Prince of Brancaleone, one of the foremost nobles of the kingdom.  Handsome, rich, and brave, he had, at five-and-twenty, outdone the lists of all known Don Juans.  Fashionable young women spoke very ill of him and adored him in secret; the most virtuous made it their rule to fly from him, so impossible did resistance appear.  All the young madcaps had chosen him for their model; for his triumphs robbed many a Miltiades of sleep, and with better cause.  In short, to get an idea of this lucky individual, it will be enough to know that as a seducer he was the most perfect thing that the devil had succeeded in inventing in this progressive century.  The prince was dressed out for the occasion in a sufficiently grotesque costume, which he wore with ironic gravity and cavalier ease.  A black satin doublet, knee breeches, embroidered stockings, and shoes with gold buckles, formed the main portions of his dress, over which trailed a long brocaded open-sleeved robe lined with ermine, and a magnificent diamond-hilted sword.  On account of his rank he enjoyed the rare distinction of carrying one of the six gilded staves that supported the plumed and embroidered canopy.

As soon as the procession moved on again, Eligi of Brancaleone gave a side glance to a little man as red as a lobster, who was walking almost at his side, and carrying in his right hand, with all the solemnity that he could muster, his excellency’s hat.  He was a footman in gold-laced livery, and we beg leave to give a brief sketch of his history.  Trespolo was the child of poor but thieving parents, and on that account was early left an orphan.  Being at leisure, he studied life from an eminently social aspect.  If we are to believe a certain ancient sage, we are all in the world to solve a problem:  as to Trespolo, he desired to live without doing anything; that was his problem.  He was, in turn, a sacristan, a juggler, an apothecary’s assistant, and a cicerone, and he got tired of all these callings.  Begging was, to his mind, too hard work, and it was more trouble to be a thief than to be an honest man.  Finally he decided in favour of contemplative philosophy.  He had a passionate preference for the horizontal