en," said the Baroness.

"My mother has probably been showing you some of my early photographs,"
said Clovis. Having turned the sarcasm into a compliment, he resumed
his story.

"The king had Vespaluus shut up in a dark tower for three days, with
nothing but bread and water to live on, the squealing and fluttering of
bats to listen to, and drifting clouds to watch through one little
window slit. The anti-Pagan section of the community began to talk
portentously of the boy-martyr. The martyrdom was mitigated, as far as
the food was concerned, by the carelessness of the tower warden, who
once or twice left a portion of his own supper of broiled meat and
fruit and wine by mistake in the prince's cell. After the punishment
was over, Vespaluus was closely watched for any further symptom of
religious perversity, for the king was determined to stand no more
opposition on so important a matter, even from a favourite nephew. If
there was any more of this nonsense, he said, the succession to the
throne would have to be altered.

"For a time all went well; the festival of summer sports was
approaching, and the young Vespaluus was too engrossed in wrestling and
foot-running and javelin-throwing competitions to bother himself with
the strife of conflicting religious systems. Then, however, came the
great culminating feature of the summer festival, the ceremonial dance
round the grove of the sacred serpents, and Vespaluus, as we should
say, 'sat it out.' The affront to the State religion was too public
and ostentatious to be overlooked, even if the king had been so minded,
and he was not in the least so minded. For a day and a half he sat
apart and brooded, and every one thought he was debating within himself
the question of the young prince's death or pardon; as a matter of fact
he was merely thinking out the manner of the boy's death. As the thing
had to be done, and was bound to attract an enormous amount of public
attention in any case, it was as well to make it as spectacular and
impressive as possible.

"'Apart from his unfortunate taste in religions;' said the king, 'and
his obstinacy in adhering to it, he is a sweet and pleasant youth,
therefore it is meet and fitting that he should be done to death by the
winged envoys of sweetness.'

"'Your Majesty means--?' said the Royal Librarian.

"'I mean,' said the king, 'that he shall be stung to death by bees. By
the royal bees, of course.'

"'A most elegant death,