him with the regularity of a cenobite. His abstinence aroused universal
surprise: a crust dipped in water, a few nuts or figs sufficed to keep
this holy man alive--to prevent him, that is to say, from dying.
Furthermore, he entertained Nisida by his tales of his travels and by his
mysterious predictions. Unfortunately, he only appeared towards evening;
for he spent the rest of the day in austerities and in prayers--in other
words, in drinking like a Turk and snoring like a buffalo.

On the morning of the seventh day, after the promise given by the prince
to the fisherman's daughter, Brancaleone came into his servant's room,
and, shaking hint roughly, cried in his ear, "Up, odious marmot!"

Trespolo, awakened suddenly, rubbed his eyes in alarm. The dead,
sleeping peacefully at the bottom of their coffins, will be less annoyed
at the last day when the trump of Judgment comes to drag them from their
slumbers. Fear having, however, immediately dispersed the dark clouds
that overspread his countenance, he sat up, and asked with an appearance
of bewilderment--

"What is the matter, your excellency?"

"The matter is that I will have you flayed alive a little if you do not
leave off that execrable habit of sleeping twenty hours in the day."

"I was not asleep, prince!" cried the servant boldly, as he sprang out of
bed; "I was reflecting---"

"Listen to me," said the prince in a severe tone; "you were once
employed, I believe, in a chemist's shop?"