royal palace and were told that they need never work again. From ease and rich food, they both fell into a decline, passed away, and were given a touching little funeral. Francesca herself was placed in a convent right away, to learn from the holy virgins all the many things a maid must know if she is to become a wife and, later, a queen. It was thought best to keep her there until she was sixteen, to protect her incredible beauty from the prying eyes of the vulgar.

The six years passed slowly. In general they were peaceful years, years with no wars or famines, no bandits on the highroads. True, there were tales of a fierce giant who lived in the forest and was said to abduct young girls, but he was probably the invention of some superstitious peasant.

Fransesca wrote once a month from the convent, saying that she was very happy.

One night in the second year, the fat old king died at table after having eaten forty-three squabs, a rabbit pie, and most of a plum pudding. His queen undertook to rule the realm until her son was old enough to do it himself, and she managed very well.

The prince grew tall and slim and comely. His hair was like gold, his limbs were graceful, his blue eyes hid beneath dark lashes. He spent most of his time alone in his chambers, reading and dreaming. This did not please his mother, who thought he should practice at tilting and swordsplay and so learn to be a proper king.

At last the six years passed. Francesca was now sixteen and the young prince was eighteen. It was time for them to be married, in accordance with the wish of the old king. The queen, who loved pomp and splendor, sent to the convent a cavalcade of two hundred noble maidens, each dressed in blue and riding a chestnut horse. Francesca, clad in her wedding dress, was delivered to them, placed upon a white mare, and escorted down the tree-lined road to the palace. She was a young woman now, lovelier than ever, and she shone among those two hundred maidens as the moon among stars.

Supervised closely by his mother, the prince had dressed and perfumed his hair. Then, with some difficulty, he had mounted a white stallion. He sat moodily on his horse in the palace courtyard, awaiting the procession of maidens that would bring his new bride.

Finally he saw them, sweeping into view around a bend in the road. But what was this? They were galloping hard, moaning and crying out, and among them he saw no bride, no white mare. They crowded into the courtyard and tried to tell, all of them at once, the terrible thing that had occurred.

It seems that when they had journeyed nearly halfway to the palace, and while they rode through a particularly dense part of the forest, a horrible hairy giant had leaped out from amongst the trees, plucked the beautiful Francesca from her horse, and carried her off.

How terrible! The whole populace was thunderstruck! The queen declared a month of official lamentation; prayers for Francesca were said in all the churches of the land. The prince went back to his books and his dreams.

With the unfortunate Francesca flung over his shoulder like a trophy of the hunt, the wicked giant strode through the forest to his tower. How she wept as he carried her up the winding stairs! How pale she grew when they reached the giant's filthy chamber! Without a word he flung her upon his great bed, among the gnawed bones and greasy quilts. He tore the wedding gown from her trembling body and brutally ravished her. Then, while she was still weeping from

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