The red eyes of the ferret closed a moment, then reopened to an ineffable smile. She held out her hand to me to kiss. “We find you an invaluable physician, Madame Lavasse. To have eased a poor queen--it is something; but to cure this land of its headache”-- “Ah, madam!” I said, “there I yield to the hangman.” Both ladies burst out laughing as they moved away. The queen turned and waved her hand. “You shall not be forgotten,” she cried; and I curtsied. A few days later M. de’ Medici called upon me. He read out a little indictment he had prepared for my behoof-- “Eleonora de Fonseca Pimentel, wife to Pasquale Tria de Solis, Neapolitan officer, noble, now deceased: emotional; authoress of some panegyrical sonnets to royalty and the age of gold; since suspect of schemes for the education of the populace; shows a partiality for red; advocates an appropriation of the Punch and Judy shows to the lessons of national virtue; claims the liberty of the press to print her halting rhapsodies;” (Monstrous!) “imputed sympathiser with Ettore Carafa (son to the Duke of Andria, the king’s major-domo, and to the duchess, Her Majesty’s mistress of the robes) in said Ettore’s late conspiracy to print and distribute an Italian version of the ‘Rights of Man,’ which conspiracy resulted in the execution of some companion malignants, and the escape from Naples of said Ettore; finally, convicted of corresponding with said fugitive, to the end of His Majesty’s overthrow and the subversion of his government!” “Not convicted, M. de’ Medici.” “That is all one, most beautiful,” said the chief of police, folding his paper. “Madame Lavasse’s word is as good as her bond.” Within a week the Pimentel was lodged in the prison of the Vicaria. That was in October; and thenceforward things moved fast, though scarce quick enough for me, who was beginning to beat my wings against the gilded bars of my cage. For what was all the national excitement to me but a means to my personal vengeance? And I feared, feared that while I lay aside for others’ use, my prey would find a means to escape me. On the 22nd of September I had heard the guns of the citadels down below in the bay welcoming Nelson’s arrival. The sound shook every nerve in my restless heart, so that I could hardly eat or sleep that night; and I laughed myself into hysterics over my little maid Martita’s description of how Madame l’Ambassadrice d’Angleterre had flown up the side of the _Vanguard_, and cast herself upon the breast of her hero, who was a very little man, and quite unable to support so much emotion.