"God bless you, little boy;" said the Apostle.
"Oh, He can speak my English words!" the youngster shouted with delight. "Yolanda, come and kiss these rings, and hear Him say 'God bless you, little boy' again—no,—girl I mean, Missy dear;" with a side-look at the governess.
The princess came forward like a lady; and paid her respects. Her brother intently watched.
"God bless you, Princess," said the Apostle.
"Oh but listen," the Prince of Naples shrieked, jumping up and down; "He knows all the words ezattually, just like my own father. He said to me 'boy,' and to Yolanda 'princess.' Now go you too, Mafalda, and I will listen again."
The tiny maid went. "God bless you, little Princess;" the Apostle said.
"That is right," the boy cried: "he said 'little princess' because——" There he stopped a moment. Then, "White Father, why for have You—no,—why did not You say 'prince' to me? I am Prince Filiberto, aged five, Quirinale, Rome. Do You know that, White Father?"
"Yes, Prince. But you are a boy."
"Well, I think so. Also I am a sailor, like Uncle Luigi. Cannot You see that, White Father? Do You know what thing is a sailor?" He stood by the chair, leaning against Hadrian's knee, deliciously rosily maritime in white flannel.