THE CURSE—THE WAY OUT 145

She was the first to speak, and if her
beauty had delighted the Prince, he was
entranced by the sweetness of the musical
tones in which she addressed him—tones of
which the melody was rendered all the more
harmonious by the trembling of her voice as
she accosted the stranger.

‘Sir, sir” she said, ‘what do you here?
who are you? whence come you? You are
not—no—you cannot be a hump-backed
mountebank—and yet ?

The maiden paused, and the Prince
blushed, for he saw that her eyes were
fastened upon his hump, of which he had
never felt so much ashamed in all his life.

‘Lady,’ he replied, rising from his seat
and bowing low before her, ‘you are right.
Although, as you see, I have apparently the
badge of their race, I belong not to the
mountebanks.’

‘Who, then, are you ?’ eagerly demanded
the lady. ‘The mountebanks suffer none
to enter here save those who are of their
own blood, and if you are discovered,
your life will not be safe for a moment.’

‘Alas!’ replied the Prince, ‘I should be
luckless, indeed, were I to lose my life now,

L