She did not rise when he came to where she lay, but his heart bounded with joy, for he had never in his life beheld such a beautiful woman.
She wore a thin soft white dress, which clung to her lithe figure. Her beautiful arms and hands were bare, and she dabbled with them in the water, and played with the fish. Her great blue eyes were sparkling with mirth, and were so beautiful, that no one noticed the wicked look hid in them; and on her neck lay the marvellous many-coloured necklace, which was itself a wonder to behold.
“You have my best greetings, Prince Florestan,” she said. “And you, too, would be my suitor. Have you thought well of what you would do, since so many princes who have seen me have fled forever, rather than marry me?” and as she spoke, she raised her white hand from the water, and held it out to the Prince, who stooped and kissed it, and scarcely knew how to answer her for bewilderment at her great loveliness.
Gervaise followed his master at a short distance, but he was ill at ease, and trembled for fear of what should come.
“Come, bid your friend leave us,” said Fiorimonde, looking at Gervaise, “and sit beside me, and tell me of your home, and why you wish to marry me, and all pleasant things.”
Florestan begged that Gervaise would leave them for a little, and he walked slowly away, in a very mournful mood.
He went on down the walks, not heeding where he was going, till he met Yolande, who stood beneath a tree laden with rosy apples, picking the fruit, and throwing it into a basket at her feet. He would have passed her in silence, but she stopped him, and said,
“Have you come with the new Prince? Do you love your master?”
“Ay, better than anyone else on the earth,” answered Gervaise. “Why do you ask?”
“And where is he now,” said Yolande, not heeding Gervaise’s question.
“He sits by the fountain with the beautiful Princess,” said Gervaise.
“Then, I hope you have said goodbye to him well, for be assured you shall never see him again,” said Yolande nodding her head.
“Why not, and who are you to talk like this?” asked Gervaise.
“My name is Yolande,” answered she, “and I am Princess Fiorimonde’s maid. Do you not know that Prince Florestan is the eleventh lover who has come to marry her, and one by one they have disappeared, and only I know where they are gone.”
“And where are they gone?” cried Gervaise, “and why do you not tell the world, and prevent good men being lost like this?”
“Because I fear my mistress,” said Yolande, speaking low and drawing near to him; “she is a sorceress, and she wears the brave kings and princes who come to woo her, strung upon a cord round her neck. Each one forms the bead of a necklace which she wears, both day and night. I have watched that necklace growing; first it was only an empty gold thread; then came King Pierrot, and when he disappeared the first bead appeared upon it. Then came Hildebrandt, and two beads were on the string instead of one; then followed Adrian, Sigbert, and Algar, and Cenred, and Pharamond, and Baldwyn, and Leofric, and Raoul, and all are gone, and ten beads hang upon the string, and tonight there will be eleven, and the eleventh will be your Prince Florestan.”
“If this be so,” cried Gervaise, “I will never rest till I have plunged my sword into Fiorimonde’s heart;” but Yolande shook her head.
“She is a sorceress,” she said, “and it might be hard to kill her; besides, that might not break the spell, and bring back the princes to life. I wish I could show you the necklace, and you might count the beads, and see if I do not speak truth, but it is always about her neck, both night and day, so it is impossible.”
“Take me to her room tonight when she is asleep, and let me see it there,” said Gervaise.
“Very well, we will try,” said Yolande; “but you must be very still, and make no noise, for if she wakes, remember it will be worse for us both.”
When night came and all in the palace were fast asleep, Gervaise and Yolande met in the great hall, and Yolande told him that the Princess slumbered soundly.
“So now let us go,” said she, “and I will show you the necklace on which Fiorimonde wears her lovers strung like beads, though how she transforms them I know not.”
“Stay one instant, Yolande,” said Gervaise, holding her back, as she would have tripped upstairs. “Perhaps, try how I may, I shall be beaten, and either die or become a bead like those who have come before me. But if I succeed and rid the land of your wicked Princess, what will you promise me for a reward?”
“What would you have?” asked Yolande.
“I would have you say you will be my wife, and come back with me to my own land,” said Gervaise.
“That I will promise gladly,” said Yolande, kissing him, “but we must not speak or think of this till we have cut the cord from Fiorimonde’s neck, and all her lovers are set free.”
So they went softly up to the Princess’s room, Yolande holding a small lantern, which gave only a dim light. There, in her grand bed, lay Princess Fiorimonde. They could just see her by the lantern’s light, and she looked so beautiful that Gervaise began to think Yolande spoke falsely, when she said she was so wicked.
Her face was calm and sweet as a baby’s; her hair fell in ruddy waves on the pillow; her rosy lips smiled, and little dimples showed in her cheeks; her white soft hands were folded amidst
