One day Fernando, with several others, had been carrying stones and earth for an embankment near the ladies’ garden. Father José at some little distance was sturdily heaping up the burdens brought by the rest, murmuring Psalms to himself the while, Manoel slowly helping him. The times were good, for the mildest of their overseers was in charge of them, and they had passed the whole day without a blow to hurry their footsteps.
Presently Fernando beheld, leaning over the garden-wall, the same maiden who had given him the milk.
“Selim,” she called, and Fernando put down his load of stones and came towards her.
“What is your will, lady?” he said, with an involuntary smile at the fair, childish face before him.
“My little green parrot has flown away over the wall; it is there by your working place; I want it back.”
Fernando bowed, and returning, caught the parrot with so much ease as to surprise him, and brought it back to its mistress.
“It is safe, lady,” he said.
“I am not a lady, I am a slave too,” said the girl, fixing her eyes upon him.
“But your fetters are but chains of roses,” said the prince.
“Tell me,” she said, “which of the Portuguese prisoners is Dom Fernando?”