Europe had held but a poor opinion of Francis the Second during his short reign. His weakness and cowardice had been openly criticised; while in Naples itself he had been variously nicknamed “Bombino,” “Franciscillo,” and “Il Re Imbecile.” But in misfortune all his better qualities came to the surface. At Gaeta, no longer distracted by conflicting counsels, he became firmer and more manly, while his readiness to sacrifice all personal feeling to what he believed to be his duty, and his generosity toward those who should have been his foes, could not but command respect. For example, two Piedmontese merchantmen took refuge in the harbor of Gaeta one terribly stormy night; but instead of seizing them and their cargoes, as would have been his right, he permitted them to leave the bay the next morning, unmolested. He was constantly visiting the outworks, inspecting the work, and doing his best to keep up the courage of his men, in which he was bravely assisted by his two elder half-brothers; but the Queen surpassed them all in courage, scorning every danger and discomfort and looking death calmly in the face. Every day and often at night she visited the hospitals, carrying food, medicines, and fruit, doing all she could to relieve the sufferers, and shrinking from no wound, however terrible. Once during the illness of one of the Sisters of Mercy, Maria Sophia took her place as nurse, and though shells were falling so thick about the hospital tent that her life was in constant danger, she refused to leave her post. The soldiers were always rejoiced to see her and would follow her about with their eyes in the most adoring way. They gloried in their beautiful, spirited young Queen, dashing about on her horse from one to another of the hastily improvised hospitals that were set up on the different batteries. The Piedmontese noticed that at the sound of a certain bell there always seemed to be some commotion in the citadel of the besieged city, and curious to know the meaning of it, some officers in one of the nearest outposts fixed their field-glasses on the fortress at that particular time. Much to their surprise they discovered a young woman in the Calabrian costume, moving about among the guns and encouraging the artillerymen, quite regardless of the storm of shells that was falling about her. It was Maria Sophia, making her daily visit to the so-called “Queen’s Battery” to watch the firing from there, and a striking picture she made in her long cloak and Calabrian hat, gay and smiling as ever, glorying apparently in danger, and careless of her own fate.