84 PRINCE PRIGIO.

 

“T’ll never marry him!” cried poor Molinda,
kneeling at the throne, where her streaming
eyes and hair made a pretty and touching pic-
ture. ‘“‘Never! I despise him!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“‘T was about to say, sir,” the prince went
on, “that I cannot possibly have the pleasure
of wedding my cousin.”

“The family gibbet, I presume, is in.
good working order?” asked the king
of the family executioner, a tall gaunt man
in black and scarlet, who was only em-
ployed in the case of members of the blood
royal.

“‘ Never better, sire,” said the man, bowing
with more courtliness than his profession: in-
dicated.