The three princes stayed on at the Castle, and the court was very gay.
Only King Theophile's heart was heavy, for he knew that he must lose his
most beautiful daughter. She was equally kind to all her suitors, and he
could not discover which prince she favored. So one evening he came to
her in her octagon room, which was of white ivory and whose windows were
hung with coral silk; and he found her spinning with her maidens. Her
robe of lace rippled about her little feet, and the band of sapphires
which held back her yellow hair were not as blue as her eyes.

King Theophile dismissed the maidens, and seating himself beside his
daughter he took her hand and said:

"O ray of sunlight out of a great sorrow, tell me in the name of thy dead
mother, to whom thou hast given thine heart?"

But the Princess veiled her eyes and drooped her head, for a burden was
upon her soul. "My father," she said, "a prince can not easily be a
lover, for love has but one object, and in the life of a prince are many
objects. I would be loved, but fine words are no proof of a heart."

"Prince Tristan is a noble youth."

"He is too fond of killing," replied Elene.

King Theophile's cheeks grew pale, for he thought of the long-ago wars
and men asleep in crimson meadows that had once been green.

"Prince Martin is a gallant lad."