But Paul, reading her unspoken thought in her eyes, with that sweet clairvoyance that had always existed between them, soothed and petted and caressed her till the smiles returned to her face and she nestled in his arms, once more happy and content.
She was the queen of his soul, he told her, whoever might wear the crown and bear the title before the world. Then, very carefully, lest he should wound her, he told her the whole story of the Princess Elodie.
Opal moved across the room and stood drumming idly by the long, open window. He watched her anxiously.
"Paul, did you go to see her as you promised—and is she ...pretty?"
"She is a cow!"
"Paul!" Opal laughed at his tone.
"Oh, but she is! Fancy loving a cow!"
Opal's heart grew heavy with a great pity for this poor, unfortunate royal lady who was to be Paul's wife—the mother of his children—but never, never his Love!
"But, Paul, you'll be good to her, won't you? I know you will! You couldn't be unkind to any living thing."
And she ran into his arms, and clasped his neck tight! And the poor Princess Elodie was again forgotten!