He did not speak, but presently that strange, subtle sixth sense which warns us that we are not alone, though our eyes see not nor our ears hear, caused her to turn.
With a little cry she arose, and then, curtsying low after the manner of the court, said:
“What would My Lord Richard, Prince of England, of his poor subject?” And then, more gravely, “My Lord, I have been raised at court, and I understand that a prince does not wed rashly, and so let us forget what passed between Bertrade de Montfort and Norman of Torn.”
“Prince Richard of England will in no wise disturb royal precedents,” he replied, “for he will wed not rashly, but most wisely, since he will wed none but Bertrade de Montfort.” And he who had been the Outlaw of Torn took the fair young girl in his arms, adding: “If she still loves me, now that I be a prince?”
She put her arms about his neck, and drew his cheek down close to hers.
“It was not the outlaw that I loved, Richard, nor be it the prince I love now; it be all the same to me, prince or highwayman—it be thee I love, dear heart—just thee.”