."

Trespolo picked up the nosegay and came towards his master, looking like
a man who was being strangled.

"Who is that girl?" the latter asked him shortly.

"Which one?" stammered the servant.

"Forsooth! The one walking in front of us."

"I don't know her, my lord."

"You must find out something about her before this evening."

"I shall have to go rather far afield."

"Then you do know her, you intolerable rascal! I have half a mind to
have you hanged like a dog."

"For pity's sake, my lord, think of the salvation of your soul, of your
eternal life."

"I advise you to think of your temporal life. What is her name?"

"She is called Nisida, and is the prettiest girl in the island that
she is named after. She is innocence itself. Her father is only a poor
fisherman, but I can assure your excellency that in his island he is
respected like a king."

"Indeed!" replied the prince, with an ironical smile. "I must own, to my
great shame, that I have never visited the little island of Nisida. You
will have a boat ready for me to-morrow, and then we will see."

He interrupted himself suddenly, for the king was looking at him; and
calling up the most sonorous bass notes that he could find in the depths
of his throat, he continued with an inspired air, "Genitori genitoque
laus et jubilatio."

"Amen," replied the serving-man in a ringing voice.

Nisida, the beloved daughter of Solomon, the fisherman, was, as we have
said, the loveliest flower of the island from which she derived her
name. That island is the most charming spot, the most delicious nook
with which we are acquainted; it is a basket of greenery set delicately
amid the pure and transparent waters of the gulf, a hill wooded with
orange trees and oleanders, and crowned at the summit by a marble
castle. All around extends the fairy-like prospect of that immense
amphitheatre, one of the mightiest wonders of creation. There lies
Naples, the voluptuous syren, reclining carelessly on the seashore;
there, Portici, Castellamare, and Sorrento, the very names of which
awaken in the imagination a thousand thoughts of poetry and love;
there are Pausilippo, Baiae, Puozzoli, and those vast plains, where the
ancients fancied their Elysium, sacred solitudes which one might suppose
peopled by the men of former days, where the earth echoes under
foot like an empty grave, and the air has unknown sounds and strange
melodies.

Solomon's hut stood in that part of the isl