She flung herself on a low couch by the open window, where the peacocks on the terrace strutted in the sun; and Hilarius waited, dumb as the dog to which she had likened him, for he had no word.
There was silence a while.
Then the Princess spoke, and her voice cut Hilarius like the sting of a lash:—
“Bring me yon flowers.”
He obeyed.
“Set them at my feet.”
He bent his knee and did so, wondering.
A moment, and she trod them under; their dying fragrance filled the air, as their living breath had flooded the senses of the blind-eyed lad at the Monastery gate.
One by one she set her heel upon the blossoms, and the marble was yellow with stolen gold.
Hilarius held his breath; it was as if she did to death some living thing, and yet he dared not bid her stay her insolent feet.
It was d
