“Affairs of urgency, sire”-- “Pooh!” said the king. “I am attending to them.” I drew away. “Pardon me, sire”--I began, when a clap of thunder rattled the glass. His Majesty ran at me whimpering-- “You think to leave me? No, no, madam. I am but half recovered yet. I must be watched, or I shall die. For yourself, you are as safe as in a convent.” He drew himself up, and endeavoured to thrust his hand into the breast of his waistcoat; but not finding any, caught at his braces instead. “Though all else be lost to Ferdinand, honour remains.” XXVIII. I RETURN TO NAPLES What a business I had with that father of babies--himself the greatest baby of all! He would not let me leave him, but took my wits to physic his irresolution as my duck-stone his nerves. As the night sped darker and wilder, bringing distracted generals and ministers, who, desperate to gather some clew out of chaos, would not be denied, he clung ever closer to my presence beside him, goggling at me mutely when faced by a poser, and laughing and applauding hysterically when I supplied an answer to it. At last a cry rose in the palace that the French were got between Rome and Naples, with only General Mack at Capua a little north of us to oppose them. “He is not to be trusted,” cried poor Ferdinand, wringing his hands. “He will sit down there and do nothing! Besides, I am not at war with France!” “_He_ is not everything,” I answered, ignoring the other fatuous pretence. “Quick, now, and light a fire between!” “A fire!” said he, aghast. “To be sure,” said I--“the fire of a crusade. Call upon the whole population north of us to fly to arms and exterminate the impious invaders. Declare you are coming to their help, and bid them strive their utmost in the meantime. It may be, in such a war of bigotry, your peasants will do your chief work for you, leaving you no task but to come presently and kill the wounded.” “But,” cried the king disconsolately, “they must know too well already that I have run a--that I have thought it best to retire!” “Date your manifesto from Rome, sire, and it will give the lie to--ahem! the truth. Quick! we will compose it together; and within an hour you can have it flying north, east, and west.” He liked the idea. That thought of being reserved to give the unhazardous _coup de grâce_ tickled him sensibly. But, though we acted upon it with all despatch, it was helpless to still the rumour of coming disaster. The report of the king’s flight and of the army’s demoralisation were too well confirmed. Hordes of robbers and cut-throats rose, it is true, at the word; swarms that committed woeful deeds of plunder and outrage and massacre, making the smiling campagna a hell. But these were without concentration or discipline, and as ready, when the lust had bitten in, to torture Italians as French.