“What is it, my little maid?” she said kindly.
“I beg your pardon,” said the child. She was but a child, and her brave heart was failing her. Derette was very near tears. “I did not mean any harm. Somebody had given up having a new gown—and she wanted it very much—to let somebody else have the money; and I thought, if I could beg one for her—but I did not mean to be rude. Please let me go home.”
“Thou shalt go home, little one,” answered the lady; “but wait a moment. Does any one know the child?”
Nobody knew her.
“Stephen the Watchdog knows me,” said Derette, drawing a long breath. “He is my cousin. So is Osbert the porter.”
The lady put her arm round Derette.
“What sort of a gown wouldst thou have, my child?”
Derette’s eyes lighted up. Was she really to succeed after all?
“A nice one, please,” she said, simply, making every one smile except Hagena, who was still too angry for amusement. “Not smart nor grand, you know, but warm and soft. Something woollen, I suppose, it should be.”
The lady addressed herself to Hagena.