e.

"Will you be kind enough to go?" she said to the Poet. "My daughter
did not know who you were because, unfortunately, she cannot see. She
actually mistook you for a poet!"

"It is the first time," said the Poet, "that any one has made the
mistake. However, you are quite right and I had better go. You will
not like my poetry; I see five-and-forty gentlemen who can write the
poetry that will give you pleasure; mine is written for the people, who
have to work that you may be happy. Little lady," he added, turning to
the Princess, "I pray you, think no more of me. As for me, I shall
love you to the end of my days."

Then he tried to go, but the small, white fingers of the little blind
Princess were round his own rough, tanned ones, and he could not move.

"I loved you before you came," she said, smiling. "I have been waiting
for you all the time. Why are you in such a hurry to go, if you love
me?"

The listeners grew more scandalised every moment. No one had seen such
love-making before. To be sure, the five-and-forty poets had written
love songs innumerable, but that was not at all the same thing. Every
one felt that something ought to be done and nobody quite knew how to
do it. Fortunately, the King was hungry.

"I think you had better say the rest in private, when we have had
lunch," he said grimly, and the courtiers looked immensely relieved,
and a place was found next to the Princess for the Poet; and the Queen
and her ladies in waiting proceeded to make conversation, and lunch
went on as usual.

"Now," said the King, with a sigh, for meals were of far greater
importance to him than poetry, "you shall tell us one of your poems, so
that we may know whether you are a poet or not."

Then the Poet stood up and told them one of his poems. It was about
the people who lived on the dark side of the city, and it was very
fierce, and bitter, and passionate; and when he had finished telling
it, he expected to be thrust out of the palace and banished from the
country, for that was what usually happened to him. There was a great
silence when he sat down again, and the Poet did not know what to make
of it. But the small, white fingers of the little Princess had again
stolen round his, and that was at least consoling.

The Queen was the first to break the silence.

"Charming," she said with an effort, "and so new."

"We have heard nothing like it before," said the ladies in waiting.
"Are there really