"From whom have you all these things?" she asked.
"Excellent Princess, from whom could I have them save the good Father himself?"
"Thou art then his messenger?"
"It becomes me better to refer you to what he has there written."
So saying, the monk stepped backward, and stood a little way off in a respectful attitude. She raised the missive, and kissed the signature several times, exclaiming:
"Now hath God taken care of his own!"
Then she said to the monk, "Thou art indeed a messenger with good tidings."
And he, accepting the welcome, uncovered his head, by raising the hideous klobouk, [Footnote: Cowl.] and letting it fall back pendant from his shoulders. The violet eyes of the Princess opened wider, brightening as with a sudden influx of light. She could not remember a finer head or a face more perfect in manly beauty, and at the same time so refined and gentle.
And he was so young—young even as herself—certainly not more than twenty. Such was her first general impression of him. For the pleasure there was in the surprise, she would not allow it to be observed, but said:
"The Father in his letter, no doubt, tells me thy name, but since I wish to reserve the reading, I hope thou wilt not be offended if I ask it directly."