The dog was a prince under a wicked spell, and when the
spell fell away the princess knew that she loved him, and not
her husband. She pined away and died. How many times I have
thought of her, poor, lonely, fairy-tale princess!"
The old soldier blinked at the doves, and there was a furrow
between his eyes. Yes; how well he remembered telling her that
story. But, as she repeated it, it was clothed with a strange
significance. Somehow, he found himself voiceless; he knew not
how to reply.
"Monsieur," she said suddenly, "tell me, what has my poor father
done that these people should hate him and desire his ruin?"
"He has been kind to them, my child," his gaze still riveted on
the doves; "that is all. He has given them beautiful parks, he
has made them a beautiful city. A king who thinks of his
people's welfare is never understood. And ignorant and
ungrateful people always hate those to whom they are under
obligations. It is the way of the world."
"And--and you, Marshal?" timidly.
"And I?"
"Yes. They whisper that--that--O, Marshal, is it you who will
forsake us in our need? I have heard many things of late which
were not intended for my ears.
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