“Why call thou me prince?” asked Norman of Torn.
“There be one without whose right it be to explain that to thee,” replied the chirurgeon, “and when thou be clothed, if rise thou wilt, thou mayst see her, My Lord.”
The chirurgeon aided him to dress and, opening the door, he spoke to a sentry who stood just without. The sentry transmitted the message to a young squire who was waiting there, and presently the door was thrown open again from without, and a voice announced:
“Her Majesty, the Queen!”
Norman of Torn looked up in unfeigned surprise, and then there came back to him the scene in the Queen’s apartment the night before. It was all a sore perplexity to him; he could not fathom it, nor did he attempt to.
And now, as in a dream, he saw the Queen of England coming toward him across the small room, her arms outstretched; her beautiful face radiant with happiness and love.
“Richard, my son!” exclaimed Eleanor, coming to him and taking his face in her hands and kissing him.
“Madame!” exclaimed the surprised man. “Be all the world gone crazy?”
And then she told him the strange story of the little lost prince of England.
When she had finished, he knelt at her feet, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips.