de, my Bulbo! Though wherever thou art is Crim
Tartary to me, my bold, my beautiful, my Bulbo!'

'Well, well, I suppose we must be married,' says Bulbo. 'Doctor, you
came to read the Funeral Service--read the Marriage Service, will you?
What must be, must. That will satisfy Angelica, and then, in the name of
peace and quietness, do let us go back to breakfast.'

Bulbo had carried a rose in his mouth all the time of the dismal
ceremony. It was a fairy rose, and he was told by his mother that he
ought never to part with it. So he had kept it between his teeth, even
when he laid his poor head upon the block, hoping vaguely that some
chance would turn up in his favour. As he began to speak to Angelica,
he forgot about the rose, and of course it dropped out of his mouth.
The romantic Princess instantly stooped and seized it. 'Sweet rose!' she
exclaimed, 'that bloomed upon my Bulbo's lip, never, never will I part
from thee!' and she placed it in her bosom. And you know Bulbo COULDN'T
ask her to give the rose back again. And they went to breakfast; and as
they walked, it appeared to Bulbo that Angelica became more exquisitely
lovely every moment.

He was frantic until they were married; and now, strange to say, it was
Angelica who didn't care about him! He knelt down, he kissed her hand,
he prayed and begged; he cried with admiration; while she for her part
said she really thought they might wait; it seemed to her he was not
handsome any more--no, not at all, quite the reverse; and not clever,
no, very stupid; and not well bred, like Giglio; no, on the contrary,
dreadfully vul--

What, I cannot say, for King Valoroso roared out 'POOH, stuff!' in a
terrible voice. 'We will have no more of this shilly-shallying! Call the
Archbishop, and let the Prince and Princess be married offhand!'

So, married they were, and I am sure for my part I trust they will be
happy.

XII. HOW BETSINDA FLED, AND WHAT BECAME OF HER

Betsinda wandered on and on, till she passed through the town gates, and
so on the great Crim Tartary road, the very way on which Giglio too
was going. 'Ah!' thought she, as the diligence passed her, of which the
conductor was blowing a delightful tune on his horn, 'how I should like
to be on that coach!' But the coach and the jingling horses were very
soon gone. She little knew who was in it, though very likely she was
thinking of him all the time.

Then came an empty cart, returning from market; and the dri