were saved. The wise men of the land said that the ill-starred child had
perished, as they had foreseen, and the people echoed their words.

In the mausoleum of the Greylocks only two places remained empty, and
these had to be kept for Wendelin the Lucky and his queen, consequently
the ill-omened son might not even rest in the grave of his fathers, and
George was buried on a green hillside, whence there was a beautiful view
of the lake and distant landscape.

King Wendelin the Lucky and his wife lived to a good old age. After the
king became childish, he ceased to groan and whimper in the night, as he
had formerly done. When he died, he was interred next to Queen Isabella,
in the coldest corner of the marble mausoleum, and no ray of sun ever
rested on his stone sarcophagus. His son, Wendelin XVII., visited his
father's grave once a year, on All Saints' Day, and laid a dry wreath of
immortelles on the lid of the coffin.

George's resting-place was surrounded by bushes and flowers. His mother
and wife and child visited it and cared for it. When the spring came,
nightingales, redbreasts, finches and thrushes without number sang their
merry notes above the head of the unfortunate one who lay there. His son
George grew to be the pride of his mother, and became a noble prince
in beautiful Italy. Centuries have passed since then, yet to-day
enthusiastic artists still make pilgrimages to the hillside where the sun
shines so brightly, to lay wreaths on the grave of the great architect
George Peregrinus of the princely house of the Greylocks.

They at least do not regard him who lies there as one born to misfortune.