The heartiest reveller forthwith became silent and slunk behind his neighbor.

Knees shook beneath stalwart frames, and there seemed a very general tendency to get down upon marrow-bones.
The Lady Ysolinde stood before them, strangely different from the slim, willowy maiden I had seen her.

She looked almost imperial in her demeanor.
"You shall be rewarded for your ready obedience," she said; "the Prince will not forget your service.

Take away that offal!" She pointed to the dead rascals on the floor.
And the men, muttering something that sounded to me like "Yes, your Highness !" hastened to obey.
"Did you say 'Yes, your Highness' ?" I asked one of them, who seemed, by his air of command, to be the superior among the archers.
"Aye," answered he, dryly, "it is a term usually applied to the Lady Ysolinde, Princess of Plassenburg." I was never more smitten dazed and dumb in my life.

Ysolinde, the daughter of Master Gerard, the maid who had read my fate in the ink-pool, whom I had "made suffer," according to her own telling--she the Princess of Plassenburg '.
Ah, I had it now.