“Many a time I thought of her, and cried because she was so unhappy. Well, she traveled from place to place, footsore and weary, but in her own country no one dared aid her, for fear of displeasing the wicked fairy, who at this time was all powerful. So she entered a strange land, where some peasants took her in, clothed and fed her, and gave her a staff and a flock of geese to tend. And day after day she guarded the flock, telling her sorrows to the dog, how she missed the dear ones and the home of her childhood.
“One day the reigning prince of this strange land passed by while hunting, and he saw the princess tending her geese. He made inquiries, and when he found that the beautiful goose-girl was a princess, he offered to marry her. She consented to become his wife, because she was too delicate to drudge. So she and her dog went to live at the palace. Once she was married the dog behaved strangely, whining softly, and refusing to be consoled. The prince was very kind to them both.
“Alas! It seems that when she left her own country the good fairy had lost all track of her, to find her when it was too late. The dog was a prince under a wicked spell, and when the spell fell away the princess knew that she loved him, and not her husband. She pined away and died. How many times I have thought of her, poor, lonely, fairy-tale princess!”
The old soldier blinked at the doves, and there was a furrow between his eyes. Yes; how well he remembered telling her that story. But, as she repeated it, it was clothed with a strange significance. Somehow, he found himself voiceless; he knew not how to reply.
“Monsieur,” she said suddenly, “tell me, what has my poor father done that these people should hate him and desire his ruin?”
“He has been kind to them, my child,” his gaze still riveted on the doves; “that is all. He has given them beautiful parks, he has made them a beautiful city. A king who thinks of his people's welfare is never understood. And ignorant and ungrateful people always hate those to whom they are under obligations. It is the way of the world.”
“And—and you, Marshal?” timidly.
“And I?”
“Yes. They whisper that—that—O, Marshal, is it you who will forsake us in our need? I have heard many things of late which were not intended for my ears. My father and I, we are so alone. I have never known the comradeship of young people; I have never had that which youth longs for—a confidant of my own age. The young people I know serve me simply for their own ends, and not because they love me.
“I have never spoken thus before to-day, save to this dog. He has been my confidant; but he can not speak except with his kind old eyes, and he can not understand as I would have him. And they hate even him because they know that I love him. Poor dog!