The Duke raised his face and looked at her. He answered “No.” “No,” he said again, “where’s the profit? I wax old, my daughter, and must wither. The world is to the young. To Corinius; to Laxus; to thee. But most of all to Corund, who if a be old yet hath his mess of sons, and mightiest of all his wife, to be his ladder to climb thrones withal.” “But thou saidst but now——” said Sriva. “Ay, when thy mammy was by. She cometh to her second childhood before her time, so as to a child I speak to her. Corund did ill to wed with a young wife, ha? Phrut! Is not this the very bulwark and rampire of his fortune? Didst ever see a fellow so spurted up in a moment? My secretary when I managed the old wars against the Ghouls, and now climbed clean over me, that am yet nine year his elder. Called king, forsooth, and like to be ta’en soon (under the King) for Dominus fac totum throughout all the land if a play this woman as a should. Will not the King, for such payment as she intends, give Demonland upon Impland and all the world beside? Hell’s dignity, that would I, and ’twere offered me.” He stood up, reaching unsteadily for the wine jug. Furtively he watched his daughter, shifting his gaze ever as her eye met his. “Corund,” said he, pouring out some wine, “would split his sides for laughter to hear thy mother’s prim-mouthed brabble: he that hath enjoined upon his wife, there’s ne’er a doubt on’t, this very errand, and if he visit it on her at his coming home ’twill but be with hotter love and gratitude for that she wins him in our despite. Trust me, ’tis not every lady of quality shall find favour with a King.” The casement stood open, and while they stood without speech sounds of a lute trembled upward from the court below, and a man’s voice, soft and deep, singing this song: Hornes to the bull, Hooves to the steede, To little hayres Light feete for speed, And unto lions she giveth tethe A-gaping dangerouslye. Fishes to swim, And birds to flye, And men to judge And reeson why, She teacheth. Yet for womankind None of these thinges hath she. For women beautie She hath made Their onely shielde Their onely blade. O’er sword and fire they triumph stille, Soe they but beautious be. The Lady Sriva knew it was Laxus singing to her chamber window. Her blood beat wildly, the spirit of enterprise winging her imagination not toward him, nor yet Corinius, but into paths strangely and perilously inviting, undreamed of until now. The Duke her father came towards her, thrusting the chairs from his way, and saying, “Corund and his mess of sons! Corund and his young Queen! If he conjure with the white rose, why not thou and I with the red? It hath as fair a look, the devil damn me else, and savoureth as excellent sweet perfume.” She stared at him big-eyed, with blushing cheeks. He took her hands in his.