Besides, why shouldn't I have my bookbinder, just as I might have (and the Prince should surely appreciate my consideration in not having) my physician and my chaplain?'
'Am I not your chaplain?' said Muniment, with a laugh. 'And does the bookbinder usually dine at the Princess's table?'
'Why not, if he's an artist? In the old times, I know, artists dined with the servants; but not to-day.'
'That would be for the court to appreciate,' Muniment remarked. And in a moment he added, 'Allow me to call your attention to the fact that Madame Grandoni has left you—has withdrawn her countenance and protection.'
'Ah, but not for Hyacinth!' the Princess returned, in a tone which would have made the fortune of an actress if an actress could have caught it.
'For the bookbinder or for the chaplain, it doesn't matter. But that's only a detail,' said Muniment. 'In any case, I shouldn't in the least care for your going to law.'
The Princess rested her eyes upon him for a while in silence, and at last she replied, 'I was speaking just now of your great destinies, but every now and then you do something, you say something, that makes me doubt of them. It's when you seem afraid. That's terribly against your being a first-rate man.'
'Oh, I know you have thought me a coward from the first of your knowing me. But what does it matter? I haven't the smallest pretension to being a first-rate man.'
'Oh, you are deep, and you are provoking!' murmured the Princess, with a sombre eye.
'Don't you remember,' Muniment continued, without
