The smile which accompanied the words had in it a strange mixture of playfulness and sadness.
'So I see, Miss Princess,' returned Curdie; 'and therefore, being more of a princess, you are the more my princess. Here I am, sent by your great-great-grandmother, to be your servant. May I ask why you are up so late, Princess?'
'Because my father wakes so frightened, and I don't know what he would do if he didn't find me by his bedside. There! he's waking now.'
She darted off to the side of the bed she had come from.
Curdie stood where he was.
A voice altogether unlike what he remembered of the mighty, noble king on his white horse came from the bed, thin, feeble, hollow, and husky, and in tone like that of a petulant child:
'I will not, I will not. I am a king, and I will be a king. I hate you and despise you, and you shall not torture me!'
'Never mind them, Father dear,' said the princess. 'I am here, and they shan't touch you. They dare not, you know, so long as you defy them.'
'They want my crown, darling; and I can't give them my crown, can I? For what is a king without his crown?'
'They shall never have your crown, my king,' said Irene. 'Here it is—all safe. I am watching it for you.'