“A poor shepherd, your majesty—how often must he leave his flock, and go hundreds of miles to look whether there may not be something in letters of gold upon the brazen gates? We did not know that your majesty had made a proclamation, or even that the princess was lost.”
“You ought to have known,” said the king.
The shepherd held his peace.
“But,” said the queen, taking up the word, “all that is as nothing, when I think how you misused the darling.”
The only ground the queen had for saying thus, was what Agnes had told her as to how the princess was dressed; and her condition seemed to the queen so miserable, that she had imagined all sorts of oppression and cruelty.
But this was more than the shepherdess, who had not yet spoken, could bear.
“She would have been dead, and not buried, long ago, madam, if I had not carried her home in my two arms.”
“Why does she say her two arms?” said the king to himself. “Has she more than two? Is there treason in that?”
“You dressed her in cast-off clothes,” said the queen.
“I dressed her in my own sweet child’s Sunday clothes. And this is what I get for it!” cried the shepherdess, bursting into tears.