th
his guards when the King sent for him.

"Oh, my poor Bulbo," said his Majesty, with looks of infinite
compassion, "hast thou heard the news?" (for you see Giglio wanted to
break the thing gently to the Prince), "thy brutal father has condemned
Rosalba--p-p-p-ut her to death, P-p-p-prince Bulbo!"

"What, killed Betsinda! Boo-hoo-hoo," cried out Bulbo. "Betsinda! pretty
Betsinda! dear Betsinda! She was the dearest little girl in the world.
I love her better twenty thousand times even than Angelica." And he went
on expressing his grief in so hearty and unaffected a manner that the
King was quite touched by it, and said, shaking Bulbo's hand, that he
wished he had known Bulbo sooner.

Bulbo, quite unconsciously, and meaning for the best, offered to come
and sit with his Majesty, and smoke a cigar with him, and console him.
The ROYAL KINDNESS supplied Bulbo with a cigar; he had not had one, he
said, since he was taken prisoner.

And now think what must have been the feelings of the most MERCIFUL OF
MONARCHS, when he informed his prisoner that, in consequence of King
Padella's CRUEL AND DASTARDLY BEHAVIOR to Rosalba, Prince Bulbo must
instantly be executed! The noble Giglio could not restrain his tears,
nor could the Grenadiers, nor the officers, nor could Bulbo himself,
when the matter was explained to him, and he was brought to understand
that his Majesty's promise, of course, was ABOVE EVERYTHING, and Bulbo
must submit. So poor Bulbo was led out, Hedzoff trying to console him,
by pointing out that if he had won the battle of Bombardaro, he might
have hanged Prince Giglio. "Yes! But that is no comfort to me now!" said
poor Bulbo; nor indeed was it, poor fellow!

He was told the business would be done the next morning at eight, and
was taken back to his dungeon, where every attention was paid to him.
The gaoler's wife sent him tea, and the turnkey's daughter begged him
to write his name in her album, where a many gentlemen had written it on
like occasions! "Bother your album!" says Bulbo. The Undertaker came and
measured him for the handsomest coffin which money could buy: even this
didn't console Bulbo. The Cook brought him dishes which he once used to
like; but he wouldn't touch them: he sat down and began writing an adieu
to Angelica, as the clock kept always ticking, and the hands drawing
nearer to next morning. The Barber came in at night, and offered to
shave him for the next day. Prince Bulbo kicked him away,