"Why did you leave the king?"
"Why—because—" Her hands clenched. The gray eyes continued to probe her. "Because I hate him!"
The emperor's face relaxed; a gleam of humor shone in his glance. "Hate him whom so many of your sex love?" he replied.
Through her tresses he saw her face turn red; passionately she arose. "With your Majesty's permission, I will go."
"Go?" he said abruptly. "Where can you go? You are somewhat quick of temper, like—. Have I refused you aught? I could not serve your father," he continued, taking her hand, and, not ungently, detaining her, "but I may welcome his daughter—though necessity, the ruler of kings, made me helpless in his behalf!"
As in a flash her resentment faded. Half-paternally, half-severely, he surveyed her.
"Sit down here," he went on, indicating a low stool. "You are weary and need refreshment."
Silent she obeyed, and the emperor, touching a bell, gave a low command to the servitor who appeared. In a few moments meat, fruits and wine were set before her, and Charles, from his point of vantage—no throne of gold, but a chair lined with Cordovan leather, watched her partake. The pains had again left him; the monk gave way to the ruler; he thought of no more phrases of the Credo, but with impassive face listened to her story, or as much as she cared to relate. When she had finished, for some time he offered no comment.
"A strange tale," he said finally. "But what will our nobles do when ladies take mere fools for knight-errants?"
"He is no mere fool!" she spoke up, impulsively.