‘No, I don’t; and I don’t want to,’ said the page. ‘Perhaps you’re the person who brings home the washing, or the kitchen-maid. If you are, I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes. The King is so jolly wild about his eggs and bacon being late that——’
But the Princess didn’t wait to hear any more; she walked straight towards the door of the breakfast-room. At the door two guards were stationed; but as they were old and crusted—that is, trusted—they remembered the Princess, and only saluted with their swords, wishing her ‘good-morning’—for they were far too well bred to express surprise or joy at sight of her. One of them opened the door for her, and said in a loud voice:
‘The Princess, your Majesty.’
The King was seated in a chair with his back to the door, and did not seem to hear what the man said. He only nodded, and did not look up from the papers he was reading.
So the Princess stole quietly up behind him, and put her fingers over his eyes—she always was rather irreverent.
‘Guess who I am,’ she said to the struggling monarch.
‘I won’t,’ he spluttered, for he was rather enraged.
‘Think a minute, papa,’ she said encouragingly.
‘I never should have thought of being assaulted in such a way,’ said the King, who had given up struggling, finding it no use.
So the Princess drew her hands away, and kissed him on the top of his bald head.