astonished when he found that she never spoke once all through
supper-time. Sometimes she seemed about to speak, but whenever
this was the case her father or mother at once took up the
conversation. However, this silence did not cool the king's
affection, and when he retired to his rooms at night he confided
his feelings to his faithful equerry. But the equerry was by no
means delighted at his king's love affair, and took no pains to
hide his disappointment.

‘But why are you vexed?' asked the king. ‘Surely the princess is
beautiful enough to please anyone?'

‘She is certainly very handsome,' replied the equerry, ‘but to be
really happy in love something more than beauty is required. To
tell the truth, sire,' he added, ‘her expression seems to me
hard.'

‘That is pride and dignity,' said the king, ‘and nothing can be
more becoming.'

‘Pride or hardness, as you will,' said the equerry; ‘but to my
mind the choice of so many fierce creatures for her amusements
seems to tell of a fierce nature, and I also think there is
something suspicious in the care taken to prevent her speaking.'

The equerry's remarks were full of good sense; but as opposition
is only apt to increase love in the hearts of men, and especially
of kings who hate being contradicted, this king begged, the very
next day, for the hand of the Princess Mutinosa. It was granted
him on two conditions.