“Suppose we go and have a look at it?” She was about to say that she must ask leave of her governess, but he looked so masterful and independent that she hadn’t the courage.  It gave her quite a thrill as he took her hand and led her out through the low window to the great stone terrace.  They passed down the terrace steps into a garden ablaze with tulip beds in geometrical patterns; at the foot ran a yew hedge, and beyond it, in a side-walk, they came upon a scullion boy chasing a sulphur-yellow butterfly.  The Grand Duke forgot his fine manners, and dropped his bride’s hand to join in the chase; but the boy no sooner caught sight of him than he fled with a cry of dismay and popped into an arbour.  There, a minute later, the bride and bridegroom found him stooping over a churn and stirring with might and main.

“What are you stirring, boy?” asked Ferdinand.

“Praised be the Virgin!” said the boy, “I believe it’s an ice-pudding for the banquet.  But they shouldn’t have put the ice-puddings in the same arbour as the fireworks; for, if your Highness will allow me to say so, you can’t expect old heads on young shoulders.”

“Are the fireworks in our honour too?”

“Why, of course,” the scullion answered; “everything is in your honour to-day.”

This simplified matters wonderfully.  The children passed on through a gate in the garden wall and came upon a clearing beside a woodstack; and there stood a caravan with its shafts in the air.  A woman sat on the tilt at the back, reading, and every now and then glancing towards two men engaged in deadly combat in the middle of the clearing, who shouted as they thrust at one another with long swords.

The little Princess, who, except when driven in her state-coach to the Cathedral, had never before strayed outside the garden, turned very pale and caught at her husband’s hand.  But he stepped forward boldly.

“Now yield thee, caitiff, or thine hour has come!” shouted one of the fighters and flourished his blade.

“Sooner I’ll die than tum te tum te tum!” the other answered quite as fiercely.

“Slave of thine become,” said the woman from the caravan.

“Thank you.  Sooner I’ll die than slave of thine become!” He laid about him with fresh vigour.

“Put down your swords,” commanded Ferdinand.

“And now tell me who you are.”

“We are Valentine and Orson,” they answered.

“Indeed?” Ferdinand had heard of them, and shook hands affably.  “Then I’m very glad to make your acquaintance.”

“And,” said they, “we are rehearsing for the performance at the Palace to-night in your Highnesses’ honour.”

“Oh, so this is in our honour too?”

“To be sure,” said the woman; “and I am to dress up as Hymen and speak the Epilogue in a saffron robe.  It has some good lines; for instance—­”

    ’Ye Loves and Genial Hours, conspire
      To gratify this Royal Pair
    With Sons impetuous as their Sire,
      And Daughters as their Mother fair!’