Stephen the smith sat alone in his house; his apprentices were gone, and he himself neither worked nor supped, but sat still and idle by his hearth. The street was silent also, for it rained and nobody was about. Then suddenly came a light timid rap at the door; so light was it that the smith doubted if he had really heard, but it came again and he rose leisurely and opened the door. Even as he did so a slight tall figure slipped by him, an arm pulled him back, the door was pushed close again, and he was alone inside the house with a lady wrapped in a long riding-cloak, and so veiled that nothing of her face could be seen. "Welcome, madame," said Stephen the smith; and he drew a chair forward and bowed to his visitor. He was not wearing his apron now, but was dressed in a well-cut suit of brown cloth and had put on a pair of silk stockings. He might have been expecting visitors, so carefully had he arrayed himself. "Do you know who I am?" asked the veiled lady. "Since I was a baby, madame," answered the smith, "I have known the sun when I saw it, even though clouds dimmed its face." A corner of the veil was drawn down, and one eye gleamed in frightened mirth. "Nobody knows I have come," said Osra. "And you do not know why I have come." "Is it to answer me for the third time?" asked he, drawing a step nearer, yet observing great deference in his manner. "It is not to answer at all, but to ask. But I am very silly to have come. What is it to me what you meant?" "I cannot conceive that it could be anything, madame," said Stephen, smiling. "Yet some think her beautiful--my brother Henry, for example." "We must respect the opinions of Princes," observed the smith. "Must we share them?" she asked, drawing the veil yet a little aside. "We can share nothing--we humble folk--with Princes or Princesses, madame." "Yet we can make free with their names, though humbler ones would serve as well." "No other would have served at all, madame." "Then you meant it?" she cried in sudden half-serious eagerness. "Nay, but what, madame?" "I don't care whether you meant it or not." "Alas! I know it so well, that I marvel you have come to tell me." The Princess rose and began to walk up and down as she had in her own chamber. Stephen stood regarding her as though God had made his eyes for that one purpose. "The thing is nothing," she declared petulantly, "but I have a fancy to ask it. Stephen, was it a trick, or--or was it really so? Come, answer me! I can't spend much time on it." "It is not worth a thought to you. If you say no a third time, all will be well." "You will marry the Countess?" "Can I disobey the King, madame?" "I am very sorry for her," said the Princess. "A lady of her rank should not be forced to marry a silversmith." "Indeed I thought so all along. Therefore----" "You played the trick?" she cried in unmistakable anger.