oment, but now of vanished interest,
as eager for the match as was the King of Glottenberg himself; and he
grew very impatient with his sister when she hesitated to accept
Ludwig's hand, alleging that she felt for him no more than a kindly
esteem, and, what was as much to the purpose, that he felt no more for
her. For although the prince possessed most courteous and winning
manners, and was very accomplished both in learning and in exercises,
yet he was a grave and pensive young man, rather stately than jovial,
and seemed, in the princess's eyes (accustomed as they were to catch
and check ardent glances), to perform his wooing more as a duty of his
station than on the impulse of any passion. Finding in herself, also,
no such sweet ashamed emotions as had before now crossed her heart on
account of lesser men, she grew grave and troubled; and she said to
the king:

"Brother, is this love? For I had as lief he were away as here; and
when he is here he kisses my hand as though it were a statue's hand;
and--and I feel as though it were. They say you know what love is. Is
this love?"

"There are many forms of love," smiled the king. "This is such love as
a prince and a princess may most properly feel."

"I do not call it love at all," said Osra, with a pout.

When Prince Ludwig came next day to see her, and told her, with grave
courtesy, that his pleasure lay in doing her will, she broke out:

"I had rather it lay in watching my face;" and then, ashamed, she
turned away from him.

He seemed grieved and hurt at her words, and it was with a sigh that
he said: "My life shall be given to giving you joy."

She turned round on him with flushed cheek and trembling lips:

"Yes, but I had rather it were spent in getting joy from me."

He cast down his eyes a moment, and then, taking her hand, kissed it,
but she drew it away sharply; and so that afternoon they parted, he
back to his palace, she to her chamber, where she sat, asking again:
"Is this love?" and crying: "He does not know love;" and pausing, now
and again, before her mirror, to ask her pictured face why it would
not unlock the door of love.

On another day she would be merry, or feign merriment, rallying him on
his sombre air and formal compliments, professing that for her part
she soon grew weary of such wooing, and loved to be easy and merry;
for thus she hoped to sting him, so that he would either disclose more
warmth, or forsake altogether his pursuit. But h