“But, excuse me,” said Caerleon, “is all this really necessary? Don’t you think that if I spoke to your father, and told him what your feelings were, and interceded with him on behalf of Prince Alexis, he might relent?”
Princess Ottilie’s eyes flashed. “Your Majesty,” she said, “my mother went down on her knees to my father to entreat his pity for me, his only child, and without avail. Do you think that a stranger’s intercessions would have more effect on him?”
“But have you tried telling him that your happiness depends on this marriage, and refusing to have anything to say to any one but the Prince?”
“No; I have not done so lately,” said the Princess, in a peculiar tone. “I did at first; but do you know what the consequence would have been if I had persisted? They would have banished my mother from the kingdom, or imprisoned her in a fortress, and what could I have done then? Therefore I said no more. Of late we have endeavoured to appear resigned to our fate, confiding in your honour and generosity.”
“But would it not put things right if I were to withdraw from my proposal at once?”
“So far right that my father would oblige me to marry one of my cousins, the Schwarzwald-Molzaus, instead of you, and I could look for no mercy from him. You must help me. You cannot leave me to my misery, when I have trusted you in this way. Help me for the sake of your own Nadia, as you would wish another man to help her if she were in my place. Oh, your Majesty, you cannot refuse me!”
“Very well. I’ll do what I can,” said Caerleon, rather grudgingly, as it seemed even to himself, but the idea of the suggested deception was hateful to him.
“And you will tell no one what has passed between us?”
“Of course I won’t repeat your confidences without your permission.”
“Not even to your brother?”