'Silvia? Why, she is barmaid at the inn! And besides, she is engaged to marry somebody else.'
'Ah, you mean the Prince of Sprats,' remarked the ex-King. 'But that match is broken off. Since you are on the throne he is in opposition, and can only be considered a pretender; but Silvia is a princess of the blood, cousin-german of the dynasty, and Columbine into the bargain; so she can marry nobody but you.'
'That fellow who owns the donkey the Prince of Sprats?' cried Yellow-cap. 'He the son of King Ormund?'
'Prince Assimund—yes. I spoke to you of him yesterday. A little queer in the head, you know, but that is only a sign of his royalty.'
'All this may be so,' replied Yellow-cap, stroking his chin; 'but as to my marrying Silvia—that seems rather sudden.'
'Not more sudden than agreeable, if I were in your place,' observed the ex-King, with a twinkle in his eye which made the pit laugh.
'Besides,' continued Yellow-cap, 'I have an indistinct notion that once—somewhere—I loved—but, no! What with the cap and crown together I can remember nothing. And perhaps Silvia may be she, after all; she looks something like her; but yet——'
'If your Majesty will let me hang this half of a brass farthing round your neck,' interrupted Silvia, 'you will have no more doubts about the matter.' And as she spoke she held the farthing towards him, with a mischievous smile.
'But don't you care at all for Assimund?' he asked her.
'The interests of the State are supreme,' returned Silvia with a grand air.