“Indeed, master, I would not accept a kingdom if I got one as a present. There is too much responsibility and there is too much to do.”
“It is no lie,” he conceded.
“I like,” she continued, “to do my work, and then I like to forget my work; but if I had the bad luck to be a king, or a queen, I should never again know what a rest meant, as you, my dear master, do not know what it is to rest yourself.”
“Still,” said the king smilingly, “the queen does get an occasional rest.”
“A king wants rest but cannot get it; a queen, however, may not feel the need to rest, and may not wish for it.”
“How do you intend that, my friend?”
“I mean that a woman gives herself up more than a man does, and when she so gives herself to love or power or hate she gives all that she has, where a man may keep back something.”
“But the queen, Lavarcham, as you have spoken of her, what do you think of her?”
“How would I dare to think about the queen, master?”
“Do you like her?” he insisted.