The way in which events sometimes group themselves is very provoking, not to say maddening. The Lady Clotilde had a fine little story all fixed up in her mind as soon as the first moments of her amazement had passed. She was going to say that the real thief had no doubt repented and had restored her property that very day, knowing that she would find it before she slept. But now Philibert must spoil it all by telling the whole story, for she remembered that she had expatiated to him upon the duty of reading elevating books, had opened this one and held it in her lap, and, seeing the pendant on the table, had censured the carelessness of her woman, and had clasped it in the book, where she said it was safe for the present. She had bragged of her piety to the archduke, and here she was exposed as one who not only had not looked into the volume for more than a fortnight, but who had told a falsehood as well!
"It is truly a curious ornament," remarked the archduke, turning it so that the light played upon the carved face of the moonstone.
"It is an heirloom of my mother's family, your Grace," returned its owner in a constrained, half-hearted way.
"I have been watching for something to happen to you, Cousin Clotilde," said the jester, "and now you will glide along and be as comfortable as the rest of us. After all, it is a good thing that you put the moonstone in a book that you never open, for if you had found it right away, you never would have accused Cimburga, and if you had not accused Cimburga, she would never have received the purse of gold for her dower, and then she never would have married Karl, for the prudent miller sooner or later would have persuaded his son to marry the weaver's daughter. So let us be thankful that you are not so pious as you think you are, and that you put the pendant in a book where it would have remained for months, perhaps years, if you had not wanted to show it to Cousin Max."
But the Lady Clotilde derived no comfort from the favor she incidentally had done the maid. It never had entered her head that she owed the girl some reparation for the fright she had caused her, and for the humiliating position in which she had been placed, for the Lady Clotilde did not own the kind of a head that would entertain such an idea.
The beds at the castle were most comfortable, being, as Philibert had said, stuffed with the down of many fowls, and that of the Lady Clotilde was hung with the richest brocade, but as she went to it boiling with rage at Philibert, Le Glorieux, Cimburga, the countess, and everybody in the remotest way connected with the moonstone, it was long before sweet sleep visited her eyelids.
But the little princess closed her eyes with a smile, and soon sank into pleasant dreams; she had seen her father, and he was all that her fancy had painted him: he was affectionate, gay, and handsome. He had spoken during the evening of his combats and she knew that he always had vanquished his opponents. He was a true and brave knight, and happy indeed was she in being the daughter of one so worthy and so favored by fortune.