"I insist," she said aloud; "you must unhelm, that all may see the face of him who has won the prize."
Whereat the knight bowed and undid his helmet. A closely-cropped fair-haired head was revealed, the features clearly chiselled and yet of a grave and massive beauty, the head of a marble emperor.
"My brother—you!" cried Margaret of Courtland in astonishment.
The voice of the Princess had also something of disappointment in it. Clearly she had wished for some other to receive the honour, and the event did not please her. But it was otherwise with the populace.
"The young Prince! The young Prince!" cried the people, surging impetuously about the barriers. "Glory to the noble house of Courtland and to the brave Prince."
The Ambassador looked curiously at his secretary. That youth was standing with eyes brilliant as those of a man in fever. His face had paled even under its dusky tan. His lips quivered. He straightened himself up as brave and generous men do when they see a deed of bravery done by another, or like a woman who sees the man she loves publicly honoured.
"The Prince!" said Johann Pyrmont, in a voice hoarse and broken; "it is the Prince himself."
And on his high seat the State's Councillor, Leopold von Dessauer, smiled well pleased.
"This turns out better than I had expected," he muttered. "God Himself favours the drunkard and the madcap. Only wise men suffer for their sins—aye, and often for those of other people as well."