So the wedding-day was fixed for the first Sunday in June.
But when the Prince arrived with all his glorious following of courtiers and men-at-arms, with two pink peacocks and a crown-case full of diamonds for his bride, he absolutely refused to be married on a Sunday. Nor would he give any reason for his refusal. And then the King lost his temper and broke off the match, and the Prince went away.
But he did not go very far. That night he bribed a page-boy to show him which was the Princess’s room, and he climbed up by the jasmine through the dark rose-scented night, and tapped at the window.
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‘Who’s dhere?’ said the Princess inside in the dark.
‘Me,’ said the Prince in the dark outside.
‘Thed id wasnd’t true?’ said the Princess. ‘They toad be you’d ridded away.’
‘What a cold you’ve got, my Princess,’ said the Prince hanging on by the jasmine boughs.
‘It’s not a cold,’ sniffed the Princess.
‘Then … oh you dear … were you crying because you thought I’d gone?’ he said.
‘I suppose so,’ said she.