the Bishop of Modenstein stood there, waiting only for her word to marry him to the Countess; and she rose suddenly from her seat and walked towards the door of the room, and, when she had almost reached the door, she turned her head over her shoulder and cast one smile at Stephen the smith. As she glanced, the blush again mounted to her face, making her so lovely that her father wondered, and she said in arch softness: "I'll refuse him the third time some other day; two denials are enough for one day," and with that she passed through the door and vanished from their sight.
The King and Rudolf, who had seen the glance that she cast at Stephen, fell to laughing again, swearing to one another that a woman was a woman all the world over, whereat the lips of the Bishop twitched.
"But the marriage can't go on," cried Rudolf at last.
"Let it rest for to-day," said the King, whose anger was past. "Let it rest. The Countess shall be guarded; and, since this young fool" (and he pointed to his son Henry) "will not wander while she is caged, let him go where he will. Then as soon as Osra has refused the smith a third time, we will send for the Bishop."
"And what am I to do, sire?" asked Stephen the smith.
"Why, my son-in-law that would be," chuckled the King, "you may go back to where you came from till I send for you again."
So Stephen, having thanked the King, went back home, and, sitting down to the chasing of a cup, became very thoughtful; for it seemed to him that the Countess had been hardly treated, and that the Prince deserved happiness, and that the Princess was yet more lovely than his eyes had found her before.
Thus, in his work and his meditations, the afternoon wore away fast. So goes time when hand and head are busy.
The Princess Osra walked restlessly up and down the length of her bed-chamber. Dinner was done and it was eight o'clock, and, the season being late October, it had grown dark. She had come thither to be alone; yet, now that she was alone, she could not rest. He was an absurd fellow – that smith! Yes, she thought him fully as handsome as her brother Rudolf. But what did Henry find to love in the black-brown Hilda? She could not understand a man caring for such a colour; a blackamoor would serve as well! Ah, what had that silly smith meant? It must have been a trick, as Rudolf said. Yet when he spoke first of her riding down the street, there was a look in his eyes that a man can hardly put there of his own will. Did the silly fellow then really – ? Nay, that was absurd; she prayed that it might not be true, for she would not have the poor fool unhappy. Nay, he was no fool. It was a trick, then! How dared the insolent knave use her for his tricks? Was there no other maiden in Strelsau whose name would have served? Must he lay his tongue to the name of a daughter of the Elphbergs? The fellow deserved flogging, if it were a trick. Ah, was it a trick? Or was it the truth? Oh, in heaven's name, which was it? And the Princess tore the delicate silk of her ivory fan to shreds, and flung the naked sticks with a clatter on the floor.
"I can't rest till I know," she cried, as she came to a stand before a long mirror let into the panel of the wall, and saw herself at full length in it. As she looked a smile came, parting her lips, and she threw her head back as she said: "I will go and ask the smith what he meant." And she smiled again at her own face in triumphant daring; for when she looked, she thought, "I know what he meant! Yet I will hear from himself what he meant."
Stephen the smith sat alone in his house; his apprentices were gone, and he himself neither worked nor supped, but sat still and idle by his hearth. The street was silent also, for it rained and nobody was about. Then suddenly came a light timid rap at the door; so light was it that the smith doubted if he had really heard, but it came again and he rose leisurely and opened the door. Even as he did so a slight tall figure slipped by him, an arm pulled him back, the door was pushed close again, and he was alone inside the house with a lady wrapped in a long riding-cloak, and so veiled that nothing of her face could be seen.
"Welcome, madame," said Stephen the smith; and he drew a chair forward and bowed to his visitor. He was not wearing his apron now, but was dressed in a well-cut suit of brown cloth and had put on a pair of silk stockings. He might have been expecting visitors, so carefully had he arrayed himself.
"Do you know who I am?" asked the veiled lady.
"Since I was a baby, madame," answered the smith, "I have known the sun when I saw it, even though clouds dimmed its face."
A corner of the veil was drawn down, and one eye gleamed in frightened mirth.
"Nobody knows I have come," said Osra. "And you do not know why I have come."
"Is it to answer me for the third time?" asked he, drawing a step nearer, yet observing great deference in his manner.
"It is not to answer at all, but to ask. But I am very silly to have come. What is it to me what you meant?"
"I cannot conceive that it could be anything, madame," said Stephen, smiling.
"Yet some think her beautiful – my brother Henry, for example."
"We must respect the opinions of Princes," observed the smith.
"Must we share them?" she asked, drawing the veil yet a little aside.
"We can share nothing – we humble folk – with Princes or Princesses, madame."
"Yet we can make free with their names, though humbler ones would serve as well."
"No other would have served at all, madame."
"Then you meant it?" she cried in sudden half-serious eagerness.
"Nay, but what, madame?"
"I don't care whether you meant it or not."
"Alas! I know it so well, that I marvel you have come to tell me."
The Princess rose and began to walk up and down as she had in her own chamber. Stephen stood regarding her as though God had made his eyes for that one purpose.
"The thing is nothing," she declared petulantly, "but I have a fancy to ask it. Stephen, was it a trick, or – or was it really so? Come, answer me! I can't spend much time on it."
"It is not worth a thought to you. If you say no a third time, all will be well."
"You will marry the Countess?"
"Can I disobey the King, madame?"
"I am very sorry for her," said the Princess. "A lady of her rank should not be forced to marry a silversmith."
"Indeed I thought so all along. Therefore – "
"You played the trick?" she cried in unmistakable anger.
Stephen made no answer for a time, then he said softly: "If she loves the Prince and he her, why should they not marry?"
"Because his birth is above hers."
"I am glad, then, that I am of no birth, for I can marry whom I will."
"Are you so happy and so free, Stephen?" sighed the Princess; and there was no more of the veil left than served to frame the picture of her face.
"So soon as you have refused me the third time, madame," bowed the smith.
"Will you not answer me?" cried the Princess; and she smiled no more, but was as eager as though she were asking some important question.
"Bring the Countess here to-morrow at this time," said Stephen, "and I will answer."
