"Does he?" said a shrill but soft and not unpleasant voice behind; and
there was seen among the group of children somebody,--not a child, yet
no bigger than a child,--somebody whom nobody had seen before, and who
certainly had not been invited, for she had no christening clothes on.

She was a little old woman dressed all in gray: gray gown; gray
hooded cloak, of a material excessively fine, and a tint that seemed
perpetually changing, like the gray of an evening sky. Her hair was
gray, and her eyes also--even her complexion had a soft gray shadow over
it. But there was nothing unpleasantly old about her, and her smile was
as sweet and childlike as the Prince's own, which stole over his pale
little face the instant she came near enough to touch him.

"Take care! Don't let the baby fall again."

The grand young lady nurse started, flushing angrily.

"Who spoke to me? How did anybody know?--I mean, what business has
anybody----" Then frightened, but still speaking in a much sharper tone
than I hope young ladies of rank are in the habit of speaking--"Old
woman, you will be kind enough not to say 'the baby,' but 'the Prince.'
Keep away; his Royal Highness is just going to sleep."

"Nevertheless I must kiss him. I am his god-mother."

"You!" cried the elegant lady nurse.

"You!" repeated all the gentlemen and ladies-in-waiting.

"You!" echoed the heralds and pages--and they began to blow the silver