The royal court assembled with laughter and gay words and smiling faces; and of them all the princess Faunia was the most admired. Tall and slim and beautiful, as the princess should be, with the dainty grace of a young fawn and the proud young way of one, she stood by the dais with a dark, handsome prince. Each time he spoke to her, although his words were laughing, she knew that he loved her; and each time he looked at her, his gay eyes said what his lips dared not speak. The princess, like every one else in the room, was very, very happy.
In the kitchen below sat Bebelle, carving the last word upon his gift for the king. His face was very pale; it looked even thinner than usual. His great black eyes burned feverishly, and his hands worked swiftly upon the word “Love.”
“I must not be late! I must not be late!” he said over and over again.
Most of the servants had left the kitchen and were sitting in the gallery of the hall above, watching the royal pageant.
However, there was a little girl left in the room, who had to remain behind in order to keep the fire going in the great fireplace.
“When will you give the king his gift?” she asked Bebelle.
“When all the others have given theirs and Shreve of the Fields alone is left he will give the king his beautiful raven, and then he will say, ‘There is still another, O King, who has a gift for you.’ Mother Jorgan has promised to let me go with her up the stairs, and when Shreve says this, then I will walk into the room and give the king his scepter.”
“Shreve of the Fields may forget,” said the little girl, shrewdly; “he thinks only of his birds and beasts, of others he has no thought. Old Jason, the butler, says he has no soul.”
“Oh, yes, he has!” said Bebelle. “He is wild and timid like his animals, though, and is afraid to show it. He has told me how some nights he lies in his cave with his animals and longs for a human friend. But you know, Sana, he is so beautiful and so different from every one else that no one can be friends with him. But look what he gave me! It is fairy moss, and Shreve says that if I carry it, I shall be brave enough to walk through the great hall to the king and not be ashamed of my ugly face.
Bebelle held up a little patch of silvery moss, the drops of dew sparkling like diamonds upon it.