"a young man sprang up, and, with a low bow, drew aside to let her pass."—Page 259.
"Sir," said she, "I cannot but notice that you lie every day here by the river with your book, and that you sigh. Tell me your trouble, and if I can I will relieve it."
"I am reading, madame," he answered, "of Helen of Troy, and I am sighing because she is dead."
"It is an old grief by now," said Osra, smiling. "Will none serve you but Helen of Troy?"
"If I were a Prince," said he, "I need not mourn."
"No, sir?"
"No, madame," he said, with another bow.
"Farewell, sir."
"Madame, farewell."