A bar of sunlight suddenly pervaded the room; red sunlight, lighting in
its passing a tableau I shall never forget. Gretchen stood at her full
height, her arms held closely to her sides and her hands clenched. On
her face there was that half smile called consciousness of triumph.
Hillars was gazing at her with his soul swimming in his eyes. And I--I
had a wild desire to throw myself at her feet, then and there. Over
the hard-set visage of the innkeeper the bar of sunlight traveled; over
the scowling countenance of the Prince, over the puzzled brow of the
Count, and going, left a golden purple in its wake, which imperceptibly
deepened.

The Prince was first to speak. "I protest," said he.

"Against what?" asked Gretchen.

"It is the King's will that you become my wife. He will not tolerate
this attitude of yours. Your principality is in jeopardy, let me tell
you."

"Does the fact that I have promised the King to become your wife
detract from my power? Not a jot. Till you are my husband, I am
mistress here--and after."

"As to that, we shall see," said the Prince. "Then you intend to keep
your promise?"

"Is there man or woman who can say that I ever broke one?"

"Your Highness, what are your commands?" It was the innkeeper who
spoke. His fingers were twitching about the hammer of his carbine. He
nodded approvingly toward me. My assault upon the Prince had brought
me again into his good graces.