He who entered shut the door instantly and gave a quick glance at Rénèe in her warm, opulent beauty and severe blue gown, and then at the bird flashing like a gleam of light in the dusky darkness of the high ceiling.
It was the Prince.
Rénèe stood in a foolish confusion; it was long since she had seen him save at a distance, and his sudden appearance bewildered her completely.
"The bird is a prisoner?" he asked, and he spoke quite gravely, though he smiled a little.
"It will not see the open window, Highness," she replied; and as she spoke, the pigeon circled lower in exhausted fashion, and settled on the back of one of the black chairs.
The Prince put out his hand gently and easily and caught the bird by the wings, and so held it out, the coral-coloured feet contracted, the red gold-rimmed eyes bright with fear.
He took the struggling creature to the window and let it fly; it sped far away, above and beyond the tennis court.
He turned to look at Rénèe. Their eyes met; words rushed to her lips, and she spoke almost without meaning to and against her own awe and shamefacedness.
"Oh, Seigneur!" she exclaimed, "you are so tender with a little bird, will you not do something for the Netherlands?"
His look was surprised, almost startled. "Do I not do something for them?" he asked.