“Your Highness—­”

She laughed.  “Our interview shall end at once if you call me by that title.  Sir,” with a gaiety which struck me as unnatural, “you are witnessing the passing of Phyllis.  It will not be long before she shall pass away and never more return, and the name shall fade till it becomes naught but a dear memory.  Phyllis has left the green pastures for the city, and Corydon followeth not.”

“Phyllis,” said I, “you are cutting me to the heart.”

“But to the matter at hand,” she said quickly.  “There is a misunderstanding between you and my sister Hildegarde.  She sent me this letter.  Read it.”

It differed but little from the one I had read in the King’s chamber that morning.  I gave it back to her.

“Do you understand?”

“I confess that I do not.  It seems that I am never going to understand anything again.”

Phyllis balanced the letter on the palm of her hand.  “You are so very blind, my dear friend.  Did you not tell her that there had been another affair?  Do you not believe she thinks your regard for her merely a matter of pique, of consolation?  It was very kind of her to sacrifice herself for me.  Some women are willing to give up all to see the man they love made happy.  My sister is one of those.  But I shall refuse the gift.  Jack, can you not see that the poor woman thinks that you love me?” Phyllis was looking at me with the greatest possible kindness.

“I know not what she thinks.  I only know that she has written me that she is sorry for having played with my affections.  Phyllis, if she loved me she would not leave me as she has done.”

“Oh, these doubting Thomases!” exclaimed Phyllis.  “How do you know that she does not love you?  Have you one true proof that she does not?  No; but you have a hundred that she does.”

“But—­”

“Do you love her?” demanded Phyllis, stamping her foot with impatience.

“Love her?  Have I not told you that I do?” gloomily.

“And will you give her up because she writes you a letter?  What has ink to do with love and a woman?  If you do not set out at once to find her, I shall never forgive you.  She is my sister, and by that I know that you cannot win her by sitting still.  Go find her and tell her that you will never leave her till she is your wife.  I do not mean to infer,” with a smile, “that you will leave her after.  Go to her as a master; that is the way a woman loves to be wooed.  Marry her and be happy; and I shall come and say, ‘Heaven bless you, my children.’  I have accepted the renunciation of her claims so that she may be free to wed you.  If you do not find her, I will.  Since I have her promise to teach me the lesson of being a Princess, she cannot have gone far.  And when you are married you will promise to visit me often?  I shall be very lonely now; I shall be far away from my friends; I shall be in a prison, and men call it a palace.”