The artisan was there at the fountain, working at the same stone figure. The Princess stood in silence and watched him. At her approach he had taken off his cap and had laid it on the grass. Yellow autumn leaves fell on his blue blouse and on her crimson velvet robe.
"Do you like to work?" asked the Princess Pourquoi timidly.
A look of amusement crept into the man's keen, dark eyes, and his lips quivered with a suppressed smile.
"Yes, your Highness," he answered, making an inclination of his head. And he went on working.
"Why?" asked the Princess Pourquoi.
"Gracious Lady and Princess," replied the artisan, "I do not know."
The Princess stared at his deft fingers and the quivering muscles of his arms. Then she strolled away to pick a late white rose, and presently wandered back, as if forgetful where her feet were going.
"I have seen you before," she remarked absent-mindedly.
He bent again, and murmured something respectful that she could not hear. The chance given him to continue the subject he did not improve.
"Once," continued the Princess, "in a hovel among other hovels at the foot of the hill. Through the open door of the sick-room where I stood, I saw you sitting at a poor man's table, sharing his black bread and muddy ale. Why were you there?"