Poor Lady Molinda could not but be hurt by the prince’s preference for death over marriage to her, little as she liked him.
“Is life, then, so worthless? and is Molinda so terrible a person that you prefer those arms,” and she pointed to the gibbet, “to these?”—here she held out her own, which were very white, round and pretty; for Molinda was a good-hearted girl, she could not bear to see Prigio put to death; and then, perhaps, she reflected that there are worse positions than the queenship of Pantouflia. For Alphonso was gone—crying would not bring him back.
“Ah, Madam!” said the prince, “you are forgiving—”
“For you are brave!” said Molinda, feeling: quite a respect for him.
“But neither your heart nor mine is ours to give. Since mine was another’s, I understand too well the feeling of yours! Do not let us buy life at the price of happiness and honour.”
Then, turning to the king the prince said:
“Sir, is there no way but by death or marriage? You say you cannot keep half only of your promise; and that, if I accept the reward, I must also unite myself with my unwilling cousin. Cannot the whole proclamation be annulled, and will you consider the bargain void if I tear up this flimsy scroll?”
And here the prince fluttered the cheque for £1,000,000 in the air.
For a moment the king was tempted; but then he said to himself: