"The monarch's ring!" she repeated, as recalled suddenly from wandering thought. "Why—how know you—ah, Jacqueline—"
"And a ring signifieth consent. You will fulfill the king's desire?"
"The king's desire?" she replied, mechanically. "Is it not the will of God?"
"But your own heart?" he cried, holding her with his eager gaze.
She laid her hand on his shoulder; her eyes answered his. Did she not realize the tragedy the future held for him? Or did to-morrow seem far off, and the present become her greater concern? Was hers the philosophy of Marguerite's code which taught that the sweets of admiration should be gathered on the moment? That a cry of pain from a worshiping heart, however lowly, was honeyed flattery to Love's votaries? As the jester looked at her a sudden chill seized his breast. Jacqueline's mocking laughter rang in his ears. "Ask her the rest yourself, most Unsophisticated Fool!"
"Then you will obey the king?" he persisted, dully.
"Why," she answered, smiling and bending nearer, "will you spoil the day?"
"You would give yourself to a man, whether or not you loved him?"
A frown gathered on the princess' brow, but she stooped, herself picked up the book he had dropped, brushed the earth from it and seated herself upon the bench. Her manner was quiet, resolute; her action, a rebuke to the forward fool.
"Will you not read?" she said, with an inscrutable look.