“I will speak the truth,” he said. “Do you ask me if I take my mission seriously? My answer to that is that his Highness the Archduke might choose a finer advocate to sound his praises, but never one more earnest or convinced.” She looked down, drawing in the dust with the point of her little shoe. “I have always heard of him as a very grave and virtuous prince,” she murmured. “Believe it true, I beg you,” said Tiretta. “His ideals are the ideals of a conscientious ruler and a noble gentleman. He has wisdom beyond his years, but free of pedantry, most sweet and natural affections, a fine presence, and a will which, if strong, is neither arrogant nor obstinate.” She did not answer for a little; and then she looked up. “Well, you have fulfilled your part,” she said. “Was there need to make such a mystery about it?” “There was so little, it seems,” he answered, “that your Highness has guessed it unspoken.” “And yet, monsieur, is it the whole?” “What more, Madonna?” “Why, this paragon of a prince should surely need no panegyrist so to recommend him, unless, indeed, there were a conscious flaw somewhere in his perfection.” He looked down in his turn; then suddenly up again, and boldly. “If high-born ladies,” he said, “will masquerade as rustic wenches, wading for lilies, it is no sin to accept them as they appear.” She drew back quickly. “I think you may go, monsieur,” she said. He bowed, and was leaving, when she stopped him. “One moment. That sword of yours--so dedicated--a fine comment on your yesterday’s sentiment! A woman is a woman, is she not, and therefore to be saved insult?” The chevalier’s handsome pale face seemed to go a thought whiter. “It is not in the code,” he said, “that princes may not bestow insults. Your Highness took full advantage of that prerogative in refusing the token.” His eyes were suddenly burning; his lips set grim as judgment. “I have some reason, perhaps, to brood over my injuries,” he said. “They have known no salve, your Highness will understand, since, for friendship’s sake, I essayed a thankless task.” He was again turning to go, and again she delayed him. “Monsieur, I entreat you. A friend, I know, may act for a friend against his better inclination, and only because he is a friend. I do not doubt the independence of your mind or the honour of your principles.” Tiretta bowed stiffly, but in silence. “I ask you to forgive me,” she said. It was so sweet and unexpected that for the moment he was quite taken back. Then his face flushed through all its even pallor. “It is I who should be the petitioner,” he said. “I am your Highness’s sworn henchman from this hour.” She smiled, rather tremulously, and, turning, signified with a gesture that she would prefer to be the one to go. “No, monsieur: the grove shall be sacred to its songster. I beg you to continue to consecrate it. As for me, I am frightened already over the scolding I shall get if madame detects me returning through the rain.”