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 position, and found the
greatest pleasure in the world in watching the shooting of stars.
Unfortunately, in the course of his meditations this deserving man came
near to dying of hunger; which would have been a great pity, for he
was beginning to accustom himself not to eat anything. But as he was
predestined by nature to play a small part in our story, God showed him
grace for that time, and sent to his assistance--not one of His angels,
the rogue was not worthy of that, but--one of Brancaleone's hunting
dogs. The noble animal sniffed round the philosopher, and uttered
a little charitable growl that would have done credit to one of the
brethren of Mount St. Bernard. The prince, who was returning in triumph
from hunting, and who, by good luck, had that day killed a bear
and ruined a countess, had an odd inclination to do a good deed. He
approached the plebeian who was about to pass into the condition of a
corpse, stirred the thing with his foot, and seeing that there was still
a little hope, bade his people bri