‘She loves him, then,’ said Charles tenderly. The friar nodded his head slowly twice, and muttered, ‘God knows she does.’
‘And does he repay her affection?’
‘How can he? Sure he doesn’t know her; he never sees her. When we were on the way here, he always thought it was his nurse she was; and from that hour to this he never set eyes on her.’
‘What motive was there for all this?’
‘Just to save him the shame among the rest, that they couldn’t say his mother’s sister was in rags and wretchedness, without a meal to eat.’
‘She never sees him, then?’
‘Only when he walks out with the class, every Friday; they come down the hill from the Capitol, and then she’s there, watching to get a look at him.’
‘And he—what is he like?’
The friar stepped back, and gazed at the Prince from head to foot in silence, and then at length said: ‘He’s like a Prince, sorrow less! The black serge gown, the coarse shoes, the square cap, ugly as they are, can’t disfigure him; and though they cut off his beautiful hair, that curled half-way down his back, they couldn’t spoil him. He has the great dark blue eyes of his mother, and the long lashes, almost girlish to look at.’
‘He’s mild and gentle, then?’ said Charles pensively.