as light-footed and timid as the deer which started at the hunters'
coming. Then her heart was so tender and good, she was so meek and
gentle, that to love her was of itself a blessing; and to be in her
presence was like basking in the beams of the May sun.

This morning she and her father sat under the tree by their cottage
door, as the hunting-train passed by. They were weaving baskets; and,
as they worked, they sang together.

As the hunting party swept by, Griselda looked up, and noted again, as
had happened several mornings before, that the penetrating eyes of the
handsome duke were fixed on her.

"I fear he is angry that we sit so near his path," mused Griselda.
"How his eyes look into one's soul. His gaze really makes me tremble.
I will not sit here on his return, lest it be displeasing to him."

Before the hunt was fairly out of sight, a gossiping neighbor came to
the hut of Janiculo, to tell the good news. Now, indeed, the duke was
really going to wed. He had promised to bring a wife with him when he
came back from the hunt. People said he had ridden into the next
province, to ask the hand of the duke's beautiful daughter in marriage.
And it might be depended 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