You can hardly imagine what a figure of fun he made to us boys, who had already taken a violent dislike to the man, with his spleen and his shifting, inscrutable eyes. But he came out in a rather more welcome light shortly; for when we reached the inn at Resina, and had stampeded from the _calesses_ for shelter into the huge sort of kitchen, lighted only by the great coach doorway, which served for the eating house as well as for the cooking place, there was such a confusion that we had doubts of getting even a _cena_, which, as every one knows, is a much inferior thing to a _pranzo_. But then the dour Prince, unmindful of his ridiculous attire, put on an air of smiling self-sufficiency, and saying, "_Lascia far a me_," went out, and presently reappeared with the Padrone, who, with the help of his women, had been pushing the abandoned _calesses_ out of the rain under a kind of pent-house. The Padrone, with whom the Prince seemed to be strangely familiar, made his appearance in the _negligé_ of a nightcap and a calico short jacket, and having understood our present wants, though he had no idea of the Italians of our company being anything more than well-to-do gentry, disappeared with the truly Neapolitan promise, "_Avrà un buon pranzo in un momento_." "That's a very short time," said the Queen. "Indeed, you will get it in a very few minutes," said Caracciolo. The Queen turned on him with the haughtiness that came so naturally to the daughter of Maria Theresa: "The Prince seems to know Resina better than I should have expected." "Yes, your Majesty. The fact is, that there is an estate in the neighbourhood to which I go for hunting."[4] [4] More what we should call shooting in England. "Indeed!" said the Queen; "and do you get good sport?" "Oh, excellent, your Majesty--excellent." "The King will be glad to hear of it. He is always glad of fresh country to hunt so near Naples." "I should be most honoured," said the Prince, turning round to scowl at the innkeeper, who had returned. We caught the scowl, and wondered if it conveyed more than that the Prince's temper was ruffled. Our patience had been put to no great trial. The innkeeper had come to announce the _buon pranzo_, which consisted of a tolerable vermicelli soup, a pork fry, and a dish of delicate little fish unfortunately fried in oil. The Italian ladies turned up their noses at the fish: to cook in oil was the sign of a very poor eating-house. To us boys, however, all was manna in the desert, and Prince Caracciolo fell to with such energy and rapacity that before I had despatched four or five of the little transparent fish, which almost fell to pieces, he had emptied the dish in front of him altogether. The little creatures glided down his fauces unmasticated, much more quickly than they move in their native element.