ments; countesses disputed with one another the honor of
putting on her slippers; and duchesses obtained, not with¬
out difficulty, the glorious privilege of handing her her
nightgown. The town and castle were adorned with flags
of all colors; walls were thrown down, yews were planted,
walks were graveled, old speeches were furbished up, stale
compliments were newly framed, and poems and sonnets
that had done duty everywhere were patched up anew.
There was but one idea in the kingdom—that of thankful¬
ness to the prince for having chosen a wife so worthy of
him.
The kitchen was not forgotten. Three hundred scull¬
ions, a hundred cooks, and fifty stewards set to work,
under the superintendence of the famous Bouchibus, the
chief of the royal kitchens. Pigs were killed, sheep cut up,
capons larded, pigeons plucked, and turkeys spitted; it was a
universal massacre. It is impossible to have a feast worthy
of the name without the help of the poultry-yard.
In the midst of this bustle a beautiful wood-pigeon, with
blue wings, perched on one of the kitchen windows, and
cooed, in a plaintive voice,
" Bouchibus, tell me, for you must know, sure,
What has Carlino to do with the Moor?"
The great Bouchibus was at first too busy with public
affairs to attend to the cooing of a pigeon; but after a
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