“I was in hopes,” he went on, speaking slowly, “that if the Princess loved your boy’s face and liked my conversation (which I may say without pride that I think she does) you and I together might have kept her at home.  So over-much wandering is not good for the state.  Also it gets her a name beyond all manner of ill-doing within-doors.”

Once more I knew not well what to answer to this speech of the Prince’s, so I remained discreetly silent.

“I have seen the Princess’s flittermice about her before, often enough (I thank thee for the word, Sir Captain.), but this is the first time she has performed the ink-pool and crystal foolery with any man.  There is no great harm in the Princess.  In the things of love she is as inflammable as the ink, and as soft as the crystal.  Fear not, Joseph, Potiphera may be depended upon not to proceed to extremities.  But I was in some hopes that you and I could have arranged matters between us, being both men—­aye, and honorable men.”

I saw that Karl Miller’s Son looked sad and troubled.

“Prince, you love the Princess!” said I, thrusting out my hand to him before I thought.  He did not take it, but instead he thrust a flagon of wine into it, as if I had asked for that—­yet the thing was not done by way of a rebuff.  I saw that plainly.

“Pshaw!  What does a grizzle-pate with love?” said he, gruffly.  “Nevertheless, I was in hopes.”

“Prince Karl,” said I, “I give you word of honor, ’tis not as you say or they say.  The Princess has indeed done me the honor to be friendly—­”

“To hold your hand!” he murmured, softly, like a chorus.

“Well, to be friendly, and—­”

“To caress your cheek?” put in the Prince, gently as before.

“Done me the honor to be friendly—­”

“To play with your curls, lad?”

“The Princess—­” I began, all in a tremor.  For anything more awkward than this conversation I had never experienced.  It bathed me in a drip of cold sweat.

“To kiss you, perhaps, at the waygoing?” he insinuated.

“No!” thundered I, at last.  “Prince, you do your Princess great wrong.”

He lifted his hand in a gentle, deprecating way, most unlike the rider who had ridden so fast and so hotly that night of our coming.

“You mistake me, sir,” he said.  “On the contrary, I have the greatest respect for the Princess Ysolinde.  I would not wrong her for the world.  But I know her track of old.  You are a brave lad, and, after all, I fear there is something in that calf-love of yours—­devil take it!”

I thought I could now dimly discern whither the Prince’s plans were tending.

“Your Highness,” said I, “I am a young man and of little experience.  I cannot tell why you have chosen to speak so freely to me.  But I am your servant, and, in all that hurts not the essence and matter of my love for the Little Playmate, I will do even as you say.”