GERVASE.  Alas, no.  For I am only a humble woodcutter’s son.  One of seven.

MELISANDE.  Of seven?  I thought that humble woodcutters always had three sons, and that it was the youngest who went into the world to seek his fortune.

GERVASE.  Three—­that’s right.  I said “one of several.”  Now that I count them up, three. (Counting on his fingers) Er—­Bowshanks, er—­Mulberry-face and myself.  Three.  I am the youngest.

MELISANDE.  And the fairies came to your christening?

GERVASE.  Now for the first time I think that they did.

MELISANDE (nodding).  They always come to the christening of the third and youngest son, and they make him the tallest and the bravest and the most handsome.

GERVASE (modestly).  Oh, well.

MELISANDE.  You are the tallest and the bravest and the most handsome, aren’t you?

GERVASE (with a modest smile).  Well, of course, Mulberry-face is hardly a starter, and then Bowshanks—­ (he indicates the curve of his legs)—­I mean, there’s not much competition.

MELISANDE.  I have no sisters.

GERVASE.  The Princess never has sisters.  She has suitors.

MELISANDE (with a sigh).  Yes, she has suitors.

GERVASE (taking out his dagger).  Tell me their names that I may remove them for you.

MELISANDE.  There is one dressed in black and white who seeks to win my hand.

GERVASE (feeling the point).  He bites the dust to-morrow.

MELISANDE.  To-morrow?

GERVASE.  Unless it rains in the night.  Perhaps it would be safer if we arranged for him to bite it this afternoon.

MELISANDE.  How brave you are!

GERVASE.  Say no more.  It will be a pleasure.

MELISANDE.  Ah, but I cannot ask you to make this sacrifice for me.

GERVASE.  The sacrifice will be his.

MELISANDE.  But are you so certain that you will kill him?  Suppose he were to kill you?

GERVASE (getting up).  Madam, when the third son of a humble woodcutter engages in mortal combat with one upon whom the beautiful Princess has frowned, there can be but one end to the struggle.  To doubt this would be to let Romance go.

MELISANDE.  You are right.  I should never have doubted.

GERVASE.  At the same time, it would perhaps be as well to ask the help of my Uncle Otto.

MELISANDE.  But is it fair to seek the assistance of an uncle in order to kill one small black and white suitor?

GERVASE.  Ah, but he is a wizard.  One is always allowed to ask the help of a wizard.  My idea was that he should cast a spell upon the presumptuous youth who seeks to woo you, so that to those who gazed upon him he should have the outward semblance of a rabbit.  He would then realise the hopelessness of his suit and . . . go away.

MELISANDE (with dignity).  I should certainly never marry a small black and white rabbit.