“Is this the end of the idyl?” Hildebrand asked, quietly, when the King had run to the end of his rhapsody. Again Robert shook his head.
“You are a traitor, Hildebrand, to think such treason of your King. What of the wisdom of Solomon? I am of the mind of the ungodly, and let no flower of the spring go by me. But I have lived an exquisite week—sunlight and starlight I have dreamed dreams. In other arms I have sighed divinely for my dryad; but I know she will prove rarer than my most adorable guesses. That I will tell you to-morrow.”
“To-morrow?” Hildebrand asked.
Robert laughed joyously as he pointed to Theron’s dwelling.
“She lives here, Hildebrand. She is the daughter of Theron the executioner.”
Hildebrand shrugged his shoulders. “Fie! A vile parentage!” he protested.
“I am like Midas,” Robert retorted. “All I touch turns to gold. My love will make her flesh imperial as a pope’s niece and her rags as purple as Cæsar’s mantle.”
Hildebrand smiled admiration.
“I have seldom seen your Majesty so enamoured,” he said.