“Ah, yes! Well, for a man to marry, or try to marry–or to dream of marrying–a princess formally betrothed to a king was quelque chose d’inouïe. But he was badly brought up, this little father of mine: always having his own way,–un enfant gâté,–you know, a child made worse–a child damaged–hurt–what am I trying to say?”
“A spoiled child.”
“Of course! But the King also was a spoiled child, which is to be expected in a king. 196However, that did not smooth things for my little father, as the King was beside himself with rage–furious, wild!”
“He was jealous?”
The Princess laughed–more of a triumphant chuckle than a laugh. “And well he had reason!”
“Then the lady preferred your father to the King?”
“Mon Dieu! She had eyes.” Then, with a slight motion of a hand: “And she had sense.”
Elinor smiled. “But a king is a great catch.”
The little lady shrugged her shoulders. “That made nothing to her. She was as good as the King. She was a grande princess. Not an every-day princess, like me.”
“Are you a princess?” Elinor asked in surprise.