"But," objected Peregrine, in reality only to continue the conversation about the lady, "but where is the suspicion, the evil opinion, you had of her yesterday?"
"Ah," replied the old woman simpering, "that is all over. One need only look at the dear creature to be convinced she is a princess, and as beautiful withal as ever was princess. When Swammer had gone, I could not help looking to see what she was about, and peeping a little through the key-hole. There she lay stretched out upon the sofa, her angel head leaning upon her hand, so that the raven locks poured through the little white fingers, a beautiful sight! Her dress was of silver tissue, through which the bosom and the arms were visible, and on her feet she had golden slippers. One had fallen off, and showed that she wore no stockings, so that the naked foot peeped forth from under the garments. But, my good Mr. Tyss, she is no doubt still lying on the sofa; and if you will take the trouble of peeping through the key-hole----"
"What do you say?" interrupted Peregrine with vehemence; "what do you say? Shall I expose myself to her seductive sight, which might urge me into all manner of follies?"
"Courage, Peregrine! resist the temptation!" lisped a voice close beside him, which he instantly recognised for that of Master Flea.
The old woman laughed mysteriously, and after a few minutes' silence said,--"I will tell you the whole matter, as it seems to me. Whether the strange lady be a princess or not, thus much is certain, that she is of rank and rich, and that Mr. Swammer has taken up her cause warmly, and must have been long acquainted with her. And why did she run after you, dear Mr. Tyss? I say, because she is desperately in love with you, and love makes people blind and mad, and leads even princesses into the strangest and most inconsiderate follies. A gipsy prophesied to your late mother that you would one day be happy in a marriage when you least expected it. Now it is coming true."
And with this the old woman began again describing how beautiful the lady looked. It may be easily supposed that Peregrine felt overwhelmed. At last he broke out with, "Silence, I pray you, of such things. The lady in love with me! How silly! how absurd!"
"Umph!" said the old woman; "if that were not the case she would not have sighed so piteously, she would not have exclaimed so lamentably, 'no, my dear Peregrine, my sweet friend, you will not, you cannot be cruel to me. I shall see you again, and enjoy all the happiness of heaven.'--And our old Mr. Swammer! she has quite changed him. Did I ever use to get any thing of him but a paltry sixpence for a Christmas-box? And now he gave me this morning a crown, with such a kind look--no common thing with him--as a douceur beforehand for my services to the lady. There's something in it all. I'll lay you any thing that in the end Mr. Swammer is her ambassador to you."
And again the old woman began to speak of the grace and loveliness of the lady with an animation that sounded strange enough in the mouth of a withered creature like herself, till Peregrine jumped up all fire and fury, and cried out like a madman, "Be it as it will--down, down to the key-hole!" In vain he was warned by Master Flea, who sate in the neckcloth of the enamoured Peregrine, and had hid himself in a fold. Peregrine did not hear his voice, and Master Flea learnt, what he ought to have known long before, namely, that something may be done with the most obstinate man, but not with a lover.
The lady did, indeed, lie on the sofa, just as the old woman had described, and Peregrine found that no mortal language was adequate to the expression of the heavenly charms which overspread the lovely figure. Her dress, of real silver tissue, with strange embroidery, was quite fantastic, and might do very well for the negligee of the princess, Gamaheh, which she had perhaps worn in Famagusta, at the very moment of her being kissed to death by the malicious Leech-Prince. At all events it was so beautiful, and so exceedingly strange, that the idea of it could never have come from the head of the most genial theatrical tailor, nor have been conceived by the sublimest milliner.
"Yes, it is she! it is the Princess Gamaheh!" murmured Peregrine, trembling with anxiety and pleasure. But when the fair one sighed, "Peregrine! my Peregrine!" the full madness of the passion seized him, and it was only an unnameable anxiety, robbing him of all self-possession, that prevented him from breaking in the door, and throwing himself at the feet of the angel.