“Do not look at her,” she whispered softly, “since her beauty has cost dear already; look rather at what remains of those who thought her as fair as you do now; see here,” and she pointed with her finger to each bead in turn.
“This was Pierrot, and this Hildebrandt, and these are Adrian, and Sigbert, and Algar, and Cenred, and that is Pharamond, and that Raoul, and last of all here is your own master Prince Florestan. Seek him now where you will and you will not find him, and you shall never see him again till the cord is cut and the charm broken.”
“Of what is the cord made?” whispered Gervaise.
“It is of the finest gold,” she answered. “Nay, do not you touch her lest she wake. I will show it to you.” And Yolande put down the lantern and softly put out her hands to slip the beads aside, but as she did so, her fingers closed around the golden string, and directly she was gone. Another bead was added to the necklace, and Gervaise was alone with the sleeping Princess. He gazed about him in sore amazement and fear. He dared not call lest Fiorimonde should wake.
“Yolande,” he whispered as loud as he dared, “Yolande where are you?” but no Yolande answered.
Then he bent down over the Princess and gazed at the necklace. Another bead was strung upon it next to the one to which Yolande had pointed as Prince Florestan. Again he counted them. “Eleven before, now there are twelve. Oh hateful Princess! I know now where go the brave kings and princes who came to woo you, and where, too, is my Yolande,” and as he looked at the last bead, tears filled his eyes. It was brighter and clearer than the others, and of a warm red hue, like the red dress Yolande had worn. The Princess turned and laughed in her sleep, and at the sound of her laughter Gervaise was filled with horror and loathing. He crept shuddering from the room, and all night long sat up alone, plotting how he might defeat Fiorimonde, and set Florestan and Yolande free.
Next morning when Fiorimonde dressed she looked at her necklace and counted its beads, but she was much perplexed, for a new bead was added to the string.
“Who can have come and grasped my chain unknown to me?” she said to herself, and she sat and pondered for a long time. At last she broke into weird laughter.
“At any rate, whoever it was, is fitly punished,” quoth she. “My brave necklace, you can take care of yourself, and if anyone tries to steal you, they will get their reward, and add to my glory. In truth I may sleep in peace, and fear nothing.”
The day passed away and no one missed Yolande. Towards sunset the rain began to pour in torrents, and there was such a terrible thunderstorm that everyone was frightened. The thunder roared, the lightning gleamed flash after flash, every moment it grew fiercer and fiercer. The sky was so dark that, save for the lightning’s light, nothing could be seen, but Princess Fiorimonde loved the thunder and lightning.
She sat in a room high up in one of the towers, clad in a black velvet dress, and she watched the lightning from the window, and laughed at each peal of thunder. In the midst of the storm a stranger, wrapped in a cloak, rode to the palace door, and the ladies ran to tell the Princess that a new prince had come to be her suitor. “And he will not tell his name,” said they, “but says he hears that all are bidden to ask for the hand of Princess Fiorimonde, and he too would try his good fortune.”
“Let him come at once,” cried the Princess. “Be he prince or knave what care I? If princes all fly from me it may be better to marry a peasant.”
So they led the newcomer up to the room where Fiorimonde sat. He was wrapped in a thick cloak, but he flung it aside as he came in, and showed how rich was his silken clothing underneath; and so well was he disguised, that Fiorimonde never saw that it was Gervaise, but looked at him, and thought she had never seen him before.
“You are most welcome, stranger prince, who has come through such lightning and thunder to find me,” said she. “Is it true, then, that you wish to be my suitor? What have you heard of me?”
“It is quite true, Princess,” said Gervaise. “And I have heard that you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“And is that true also?” asked the Princess. “Look at me now, and see.”
Gervaise looked at her and in his heart he said, “It is quite true, oh wicked Princess! There never was woman as beautiful as you, and never before did I hate a woman as I hate you now;” but aloud he said,
“No, Princess, that is not true; you are very beautiful, but I have seen a woman who is fairer than you for all that your skin looks ivory against your velvet dress, and your hair is like gold.”
“A woman who is fairer than I?” cried Fiorimonde, and her breast began to heave and her eyes to sparkle with rage, for never before had she heard such a thing said. “Who are you who dares come and tell me of women more beautiful than I am?”
“I am a suitor who asks to be your husband, Princess,” answered Gervaise, “but still I say I have seen a woman who was fairer than you.”
“Who is she—where is she?” cried Fiorimonde, who could scarcely contain her anger. “Bring her here at once that I may see if you speak the truth.”
“What will
