Prince Gaucelm mused. “Shall I show offence or no? I have not decided.”
“Why show offence?” said the ugly princess. “I am as I am, and he is as he is. Let him go, with smiles and a stirrup-cup, and a ‘Fair lord, well met and well parted!’”
“He is a foolish man.”
“There are many such—and women. Let him go. I grudge him no happiness, nor a fair wife.”
The ugly princess rose from the floor and went and stood by the window. Doves that Gaucelm cherished flew from their cote in the court below across and across the opening. One came and sat upon the sill and preened its feathers.
“This question of fairness has many aspects,” said Gaucelm the Fortunate. “The cover in which you are clad is not so bad!—Well, let us take it that this great baron is gone.”
“I will make an offering to Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne! But I will thank you, too,—and most, I think.”
“It rests,” said Gaucelm, “that you must marry.”
“Ah, must I so surely?”
Prince Gaucelm regarded her ponderingly, with bent brows. “What is there else for women? You will not be a nun?”