on, he would bring the bride home on the milk white palfrey, which one of his squires had led by a silver bridle.
It was almost sunset when the trampling of hoofs told Griselda that the hunting party were coming back; and remembering what the talkative neighbor had said, she thought she would like to take a peep at the young bride when they passed on their way to the palace. She had just been to the well for some water, and she stood in the doorway, with her bare, round arm poising the earthen pitcher on her head, and the rosy toes of her little bare feet peeping from beneath her brown gown, to watch the hunt go by.
Nearer and nearer came the train: louder and louder sounded the clatter, and full in sight came the Duke, with the white palfrey, led by its silver bridle, close beside him. But the saddle was empty, and no bride was among the huntsmen.
“Can it be possible the lady would refuse him,—so handsome and noble as he looks?” thought Griselda.
How astonished she was when the Duke, riding up to the hut, asked for her father. She was pale with fright, lest their humble presence had in some way offended the prince; and, all in a tremble, ran in to call old Janiculo. He came out, as much puzzled and frightened as his daughter.
