Indeed, St.George thought, one might almost have spent the prince's profile at a fig-stall, and the vender would have jingled it among his silver and never have detected the cheat.

But in the next moment the joyous mounting of his blood running riot in audacious whimsies was checked by the even voice of the prince himself.
"The gratitude and love of this people," he said slowly, "are due to the daughter of its sovereign for what she has proposed.

It is, however, to be remembered that by our ancient law the State and every satrapy therein shall receive no service, whether of blood or of bond, from an alien.

The king himself could serve us only in that he was king.

To his daughter as Princess of Yaque and wife of the Head of the House of the Litany, this service in the search for the sovereign and the Hereditary Treasure will be permitted, but she may serve us only from the throne." "Upon my soul, then that lets _us_ out," murmured Amory.
And St.George remembered miserably how, in that dingy house in McDougle Street, he and Olivia had listened once before to the recital of that law from the prince's lips.