ast discovered thou art a woman after all?
First thou fearest for thy hair, and now thou askest a mirror. But in
truth I like thee the better for thy discovery." And she kissed Solita
very heartily, who blushed that her secret was so readily found out,
and felt no small shame at her lack of subtlety. For many ladies, she
knew, had secrets--ay, even from their bosom lords and masters---and
kept them without effort in the subterfuge, whereas she, poor fool,
betrayed hers at the first word.

"And what man is it?" laughed the princess. "For there is not one
that deserves thee, as thou shalt judge for thyself." Whereupon she
summoned one of her servants and bade him place a mirror in the
bed-chamber of Solita, wherein she might see herself from top to toe.

"Art content?" she asked. "Thus shalt thou see thyself, without
blemish or fault even for this crown of hair to the heel of thy foot.
But I fear me the sight will change all thy thoughts and incline thee
to scorn of thy suitor."

Then she stood for a little watching the sunlight play upon the golden
head and pry into the soft shadows of the curls, and her face saddened
and her voice faltered.

"But what of me, Solita?" she said. "All men give me reverence, not
one knows me for a woman. I crave the bread of love, all day long I
hunger for it, but they offer me the polished stones of courtesy and
respect, and so I starve slowly to my death. What of me, Solita? What
of me?"

But Solita made reply, soothing her:

"Madame," she said, "all your servants love you, but it beseems them
not to flaunt it before your face, so high are you placed above them.
You order their fortunes and their lives, and surely 'tis nobler work
than meddling with this idle love-prattle."

"Nay," replied the princess, laughing in despite of her heaviness,
for she noted how the blush on Solita's cheek belied the scorn of her
tongue. "There spoke the saint, and I will hear no more from her now
that I have found the woman. Tell me, did he kiss you?"

And Solita blushed yet more deeply, so that even her neck down to her
shoulders grew rosy, and once or twice she nodded her head, for her
lips would not speak the word.

Then Joceliande sighed to herself and said--

"And yet, perchance, he would not die for you, whereas men die for
me daily, and from mere obedience. How is he called?"

"Madame," she replied, "I may not tell you, for all my pride in
him. 'Twill be for my lord to an