So, still laughing, they parted, William hastening across the sunny square, where every cap was lifted and every head bent to him, to the town hall.
As he approached the antechamber to his apartments, he saw Anne through an open door.
She was ready clothed for the midday repast and the tourney in a gown of violet cloth of gold veiled in falls of silver lace and finished by a ruff of pure gold thread a foot deep.
William heard her sharp voice raised, and instinctively slackened his step.
A lock of Anne's tresses had caught in the stiff edge of her ruff; one of her women in disengaging it chanced to pull the crimped hair.
Anne turned and smacked the girl's face smartly enough to bring the tears to her eyes.
The Prince saw this little episode; a new type she was indeed, this fierce little cat with her claws always ready, he thought.
As he entered the room Anne became all softness and affection and gentleness.
William saluted her rather absently, but she flushed with joy at his conventional courtly compliments which her inexperience took literally.
"Tell me of Brussels?" she implored, clinging to his arm. "What shall I do in Brussels?"