"Will no one serve
you but Helen of Troy?"
"If I were a prince," said he, "I need not mourn."
"No, sir?"
"No, madam," he said, with another bow.
"Farewell, sir."
"Madam, farewell."
So she went on her way, and saw him no more till the next day, nor
after that till the next day following; and then came an interval when
she saw him not, and the interval was no less than twenty-four hours;
yet still he read of Helen of Troy, and still sighed that she was dead
and he no prince. At last he tempted the longed-for question from her
shy, smiling lips.
"Why would you not mourn, sir, if you were a prince?" said she. "For
princes and princesses have their share of sighs." And with a very
plaintive sigh Osra looked at the rapid-running river, as she waited
for the answer.
"Because I would then go to Strelsau, and so forget her."
[Illustration: "FROM THE LONG GRASS BY THE RIVER'S EDGE A YOUNG MAN
SPRANG UP, AND, WITH A VERY LOW BOW, DREW ASIDE TO LET HER PASS."]
"But you are at Strelsau now!" she cried with wonderful surprise.
"Ah, but I am no prince, madam!" said he.
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