When King Rudolf had read this letter, he grew very thoughtful, and, unknown to Giraldo, he sent and caught the messenger whom Giraldo was wont to entrust with the pictures, and who carried the picture of which M. de Mérosailles wrote to Glottenberg; and the King interrogated the messenger most closely, but got nothing from him, save that he himself never beheld the pictures which he carried, but received them most carefully packed from Giraldo, and so delivered them without undoing the coverings, and then by Giraldo's strict orders returned at once, and did not wait until the recipient had inspected the picture. So that the fellow did not know anything about the picture that had gone to Glottenberg, except that it was certainly the same as Giraldo had entrusted to his hands. But the King was not satisfied, and, learning that his sister was at that moment at Giraldo's house, being painted afresh by him, he called half-a-dozen of his gentlemen, and set out on horseback for the place where Giraldo lived in the street that runs from the Cathedral towards the western gate of Strelsau. To this day the house stands there. The Princess sat and Giraldo painted. Behind the Princess was a window, looking on to the street, and behind Giraldo was a second door, which led into an inner room. On Giraldo's easel stood the nearly finished picture; Giraldo's eyes were alight both with love and with triumph, as he turned from the Princess to the picture, and from the picture to the Princess again; and she, seeing something of his admiration, said with a blush: "Is it indeed faithful, signor?" For it seemed even to herself a marvellously lovely picture. "No, madame," answered he. "For my imperfect hand cannot be faithful to perfection." "I pray you, do not flatter me. Have you indeed shewn every fault of my face?" "If there be a fault in your face, madame, there it is also in my picture," said Giraldo. The Princess was silent for a moment, then she said: "It is better, is it not, than the picture you painted for the King of Glottenberg?" Giraldo painted a stroke or two before he answered carelessly: "Indeed, madame, it is more faithful than that which the King of Glottenberg has." "Then less beautiful?" asked Osra with a petulant smile. "Nay, I do not say that; not less beautiful," he answered. "Perhaps he would like this one better, and give me his in exchange; for I never saw his after it was finished. I think I will ask the King to write to him." Giraldo had turned round suddenly as the Princess made this suggestion; she had spoken half in sport, half in continuing chagrin at the blindness shewn by the Court of Glottenberg. Now he stood staring at her with wide-open alarmed eyes; and he dropped his brushes on to the floor. "What ails you, signor?" she cried. "I did but suggest exchanging the pictures." He tried to regain his composure, as he stooped to pick up his brushes.