Freed at last from the dreadful oppression that had weighed her down as Crown Princess, she quickly recovered her exuberance of spirits, which found expression in various ways. The relations between her and her husband also became much more free and natural after their accession to the throne. Francis had begun, soon after the wedding, to be in love with his wife, although he did not show it. The long system of repression to which he had become accustomed had inflicted permanent injuries on his sensitive nature; but Maria Sophia’s personal charm was so great and her gayety so spontaneous that it was impossible for him to escape her fascination. Under his awkward manner, however, she did not perceive his dawning love for her, while he felt strange in the world of lovers and was unable to express his feelings, except by the eagerness with which he fulfilled her slightest wish. Nor did Maria Sophia hesitate to use her power. Once her own mistress, she quickly cast off the yoke laid upon her by the Queen at Bari and Caserta, and gave unmistakable proof that she, too, had a strong will. At table she would beg permission to have her favorite dog, Lyonne, in the room. The King always consented; and the huge Newfoundland with her four pups would come tearing in and enjoy themselves during the rest of the meal, leaping madly about the table, and sometimes even upon it, to the indignation of the court and their mistress’s intense delight. Photography had recently come into fashion, and she had herself taken in every possible position and costume, greatly to the disgust of her mother-in-law, who objected strongly to her continual changes of costume and her frequent riding excursions. But the time was past when Maria Sophia allowed herself to be dictated to. Like a young Amazon she dashed about the streets of Naples, exciting universal admiration and amazement at her daring horsemanship. [Illustration: _FRANCIS SECOND King of Naples_] As Crown Prince, Francis the Second had not been unpopular with the people. His mother had been almost worshipped; and the Neapolitans pitied the sickly boy whose life, even, so it was said, had been attempted by his stepmother. But he was utterly lacking in the qualities necessary for a sovereign. It needed a clear head and a firm hand to guide the ship of state safely through those stormy seas. His judgment was sound enough; but he was good-natured to the point of weakness, and superstitious to an almost fanatical degree. He never let a day pass without hearing mass, and went regularly to confession. One of his favorite occupations was to hold long religious conversations with Father Borelli and other priests who happened to be at court. He talked much of his dead mother, before whose portrait he would kneel for hours in prayer, and he would frequently clasp his head in his hands as if in distress, crying, “Ah, how heavy this crown is!”