I began to wonder stupidly who Fabio Romani was; the gay gallant known as such seemed no longer to have any existence--a "white-haired fisherman" usurped his place.

But though I thought these things I refrained from addressing the king.

Some impulse, however, led me to follow him at a respectful distance, as did also many others.

His majesty strolled through the most pestilential streets with as much unconcern as though he wore taking his pleasure in a garden of roses; he stepped quietly into the dirtiest hovels where lay both dead and dying; he spoke words of kindly encouragement to the grief-stricken and terrified mourners, who stared through their tears at the monarch with astonishment and gratitude; silver and gold were gently dropped into the hands of the suffering poor, and the very pressing cases received the royal benefactor's personal attention and immediate relief.

Mothers with infants in their arms knelt to implore the king's blessing--which to pacify them he gave with a modest hesitation, as though he thought himself unworthy, and yet with a parental tenderness that was infinitely touching.