“And here I am,” added the Prince, testily, “the only man of my rank in Europe, perhaps, without society, amusement, or pleasure, condemned to the wearisome details of a petty administration, and actually a slave,--yes, sir, I say, a slave--What the deuce is this? My horse is sinking above his pasterns. Where are we, Stubber?” and with a vigorous dash of the spurs he extricated himself from the deep ground. “I often told your Highness that these lands were ruined for want of drainage. You may remark how poor the trees are along here; the fruit, too, is all deteriorated,--all for want of a little skill and industry. And, if your Highness remarked the appearance of the people in that village, every second man has the ague on him.” “They did look very wretched. And why is it not drained? Why isn't everything done as it ought, Stubber, eh?” “Why is n't your Highness in Bohemia?” “Want of means, my good Stubber; no money. My man, Landelli, tells me the coffer is empty; and until this new tax on the Colza comes in, we shall have to live on our credit or our wits,--I forget which, but I conclude they are about equally productive.” “Landelli is a _ladro_,” said Stubber. “He has money enough to build a new wing to his château in Serravezza, and to give fifty thousand scudi of fortune to his daughter, though he can't afford your Highness the common necessaries of your station.” “_Per Bacco!_ Billy, you are right; you must look into these accounts yourself. They always confuse me.” “I _have_ looked into them, and your Highness shall have two hundred thousand francs to-morrow on your dressing-table, and as much more within the week.”