But still the whole court shouted and applauded. So the play went on; and now, more and more, the showman had cause to grumble. Whenever he came to a part where the play required that the queen should turn from her own cow-herd to the ugly odd man, everything went wrong. 'Very well,' thought he at last, 'she may be as innocent as Desdemona but it will all come to the same at the last!' And so, still more, as the play went on, the little marionettes trembled and shook with fear. They wished the silly odd man would go away, and not come interrupting their prayers; and all the while they loved each other so! No idea of jealousy ever entered the little king's head; and as for the queen, if the odd man came and put his arms round her neck and kissed her, could she help it? All she could do was to run and put her arms round her own lover when he reappeared; and how the court shouted and applauded, when she went so quick from one to the other. At last the final act was begun; the king came running in with a sword in his hand, why, he did not know, until he saw his poor little queen struggling in the arms of the odd man. 'Ah,' thought he, 'it is to drive him away! Then we shall be by ourselves again, and happy.' No one ever fought so wonderfully on a stage before as the little cow-herd. All the court started to their feet, shouting; and still, while they shouted, they laughed to see the impossible odd man scooping about with his sword, and jerking head over heels, and high up into the air, to get away from the little king's sword-play. The partner had to keep snatching him up out of harm's way, for fear of a wrong ending. Then, suddenly he let him come down with a jump on the little king's head. And at that the king fell back upon the ground, and felt a sharp pain go through his heart. The odd man drew out his sword and laughed; on the end of it was a tiny drop of blood. The poor little queen ran up, and bent down to look in her lover's face, to know if he were really hurt. And then a terrible thing happened. Three times the little king raised his sword and pointed it at her heart, and dropped it again. And all the time the partner was tugging at the strings, and swearing by all the worst things he knew. The little king felt himself growing weak; he was very frightened. He felt as if he were going away altogether, and leaving her to think he did not love her any more. And still his arm went up and down, pointing the sword at her heart. The showman tugged angrily; then there was the sound of a wire that snapped--the king had thrown away his sword. He reached up his two arms, and laid them fast round the queen's neck. 'Now at last she knows that I have not left off loving her.' He felt her drawing herself away, he held her more and more tightly to his breast; and now her little face lay close against his. Nothing should take her away from him now!