"Does he know the terms attached to his acceptance?" inquired the Queen.
Yes, the messenger from the unknown candidate for the hand of the beautiful Ice-Heart had been expressly charged to say that the Prince Jocko—such was the new-comer's name—was fully informed as to all particulars, and prepared to comply with the conditions.
The Princess' parents smiled somewhat bitterly. They had no hope, but still they could not forbid the attempt.
"Prince Jocko?" said the King, "not a very prince-like name. However, it matters little."
A few hours later the royal pair and their daughter, with all their attendants, in great state and ceremony, were awaiting their guest. And soon a blast of trumpets announced his approach. His retinue was indeed magnificent; horsemen in splendid uniforms, followed by a troop of white mules with negro riders in gorgeous attire, then musicians, succeeded by the Prince's immediate attendants, defiled before the great marble steps in front of the palace, at the summit of which the King, with the Queen and Princess, was seated in state.
Ice-Heart clapped her hands.
"'Tis as good as a show," she said, "but where is the Prince?"
As she said the word the cortége halted. A litter, with closely drawn curtains, drew up at the foot of the steps.
"Gracious!" exclaimed the Princess, "I hope he is not a molly-coddle;" but before there was time to say more the curtains of the litter were drawn aside, and in another moment an attendant had lifted out its occupant, who forthwith proceeded to ascend the steps.
The parents and their daughter stared at each other and gasped.