fairy horse, and wear fairy armor, what on earth is the use of my hitting you? I may as well give myself up a prisoner at once. Your Majesty won’t, I suppose, be so mean as to strike a poor fellow who can’t strike again?”
The justice of Padella’s remark struck the magnammous Giglio. “Do you yield yourself a prisoner, Padella?” says he.
“Of course I do,” says Padella.
“Do you acknowledge Rosalba as your rightful Queen, and give up the crown and all your treasures to your rightful mistress?”
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“If I must I must,” says Padella, who was naturally very sulky.
By this time King Giglio’s aides-de-camp had come up, whom his Majesty ordered to bind the prisoner. And they tied his hands behind him, and bound his legs tight under his horse, having set him with his face to the tail; and in this fashion he was led back to King Giglio’s quarters, and thrust into the very dungeon where young Bulbo had been confined.
Padella (who was a very different person, in the depth of his distress, to Padella the proud wearer of the Crim Tartary crown) now most affectionately and earnestly asked to see his son—his dear eldest boy—his darling Bulbo; and that good-natured young man never once reproached his haughty parent for his unkind conduct the day before, when he would have left Bulbo to be shot
