Here at last was the explanation of the threadbare and inexplicable jest of Jorian and Boris, "The Prince hath a Princess, and she is oft upon her travels !" But, after all, what a Wendish barking about so small an egg.

I have heard an emperor proclaimed with less cackle.
Ysolinde, Princess of Plassenburg--yes, that made a difference.

And I had taken her hand--I, the son of the Red Axe--I, the Hereditary Justicer of the Wolfmark.

Well, after all, she had sought me, not I her.

And then, the little Helene--what would she make of it?
I longed greatly to find an opportunity to tell her.