My heart was in flames.  I understood all now, though I dare say Gretchen didn’t.  All at once, her head fell on the back of the chair from which she had but lately risen.  She was weeping silently and deeply.  I did not move, but stood watching her, drinking in with exultation the loveliness of a woman in tears.  She was mine, mine, mine!  The innkeeper had not really known her heart till the night in the garden to which he so adroitly referred; then he had made up his mind that things were not as they should be, and had sent me that anonymous note.  Mine at last, I thought.  Somehow, for the first time in my life I felt what is called masterful; that is to say, not all heaven and earth should take her away from me now.  Softly I passed over to her side and knelt at her feet.  I lifted the hem of her gown and pressed it to my lips.

“My Princess!” I murmured, “all mine.”  I kissed her unresisting hand.  Then I rose and put my arms around her.  She trembled but made no effort to withdraw.  “I swear to you, Gretchen, that I will never leave you again, not if the King should send an army against me, which he will never do, since he has commanded that I marry you.  Beware!  It is a dangerous thing to trifle with a King’s will.  And then, even if the King should change his mind, I should not.  You are mine.  I should like to know if I haven’t won you!  Oh, they do well to call you Princess Caprice.  Oh, Gretchen,” falling back to humble tones, “what a weary year has been wasted.  You know that I love you; you have never really doubted it; you know that you have not.  Had you gone to your sister when she wrote to you, she would have told you that it was for you alone that I made her a Princess; that all my efforts were to make you free to wed.  Gretchen, you will not send me away this time, will you?  You will be kind and bid me to stay?”

“She loves you,” whispered Gretchen.

This admitted no reply.  I simply pressed my lips to her hair.  The sobs were growing audibly less.

“I read it in her eyes,” persisted Gretchen.

“Gretchen, answer me:  do you love me?”

“Yes.”

I placed my hands against her temples, and turned her head around so that those blue-green eyes, humid and tearful, looked into mine.

“Oh, I cannot deny it.  If I wrong her in accepting your love, it is because I cannot help it.  I love you better than all the world; so well do I love you that—­” Her head sank on my heart, and her sobs began afresh.

“That what, Gretchen?” I asked.

“Nothing.”  By and by she said; “Keep faith with me, and I promise to love as few women can.”

Then I kissed her lips.  “Gretchen?”

“What is it?”

“I have an idea that we shall be very happy.  Now let us go and make terms of peace with the innkeeper.”

We found him alone in the barroom.

“Gretchen,” said I, “read this note.”