“Ach! my little maid, Therese, sleeps as soundly, eats as heartily and loves as warmly as I, so a fig for your argument.”
“You may breathe the same air, but would you love the same man that your maid might love?”
“Is a man the only excuse for love?” she asked. “If so, then I must say that I breathe and eat and drink and sleep—and that is all.”
“Pardon me, but some day you will find that love is a man, and”—here he laughed—“you will neither breathe, nor eat, nor sleep except with him in your heart. Even a princess is not proof against a man.”
“Is a man proof against a princess?” she asked, as she leaned against the casement.
“It depends on the”—he paused “the princess, I should say.”
“Alas! There is one more fresh responsibility acquired. It seems to me that everything depends on the princess,” she said, merrily.
“Not entirely,” he said, quickly. “A great deal—a very great deal—depends on circumstances. For instance, when you were Miss Guggenslocker it wouldn't have been necessary for the man to be a prince, you know.”
“But I was Miss Guggenslocker because a man was unnecessary,” she said, so gravely that he smiled. “I was without a title because it was more womanly than to be a 'freak,' as I should have been had every man, woman and child looked upon me as a princess. I did not travel through your land for the purpose of exhibiting myself, but to learn and unlearn.”
“I remember it cost you a certain coin to learn one thing,” he observed.