"Oh, I like her not; a most designing creature," returned the lady carelessly. "But you may rise. Hand me that embroidery," she added when he had obeyed. "How do I know the duke, my betrothed, whom I have never seen, has not sent you to report upon my poor charms? What if you were only his emissary?"
"Princess," he answered, "I am but a fool; no emissary. If I were—"
"Well?"
She smiled indulgently at the open admiration written so boldly upon his face, and, encouraged by her glance, he regarded her swiftly, comprehensively; the masses of hair the fillet ill-confined; eyes, soft-lidded, dreamy as a summer's day; a figure, pagan in generous proportions; a foot, however, petite, Parisian, peeping from beneath a robe, heavy, voluminous, vivid!
"If you were?" she suggested, passing a golden thread through the cloth she held.
"I would write him the miniature he has of you told but half the truth."
"So you have seen the miniature? It lies carelessly about, no doubt?" Yet her tone was not one of displeasure.
"The duke frequently draws it from his breast to look at it."
"And so many handsome women in the kingdom, too!" laughed the princess. "A tiny, paltry bit of vellum!"
Her lips curled indulgently, as of a person sure of herself. Did not the fool's glance pay her that tribute to which she was not a stranger? Her lashes, suddenly lifted, met his fully, and drove his look, grown overbold, to cover. The princess smiled; she might well believe the stories about him; yet was not ill-pleased. "Like master; like man!" says the proverb. She continued to survey the graceful figure, well-poised head and handsome features of the jester.