person's hands, no, not if I had it on my forehead. And that's what

you must do, if you mean to live it out. But, indeed, I never heard

such nonsense. I should think you was ashamed of yourself! You're

bald, then, I suppose?'

'O no,' said Otto, fairly laughing. 'There I acquit myself: not

bald!'

'Well, and good?' pursued the girl. 'Come now, you know you are

good, and I'll make you say so. . . . Your Highness, I beg your

humble pardon. But there's no disrespect intended. And anyhow, you

know you are.'

'Why, now, what am I to say?' replied Otto. 'You are a cook, and

excellently well you do it; I embrace the chance of thanking you for

the ragout. Well now, have you not seen good food so bedevilled by

unskilful cookery that no one could be brought to eat the pudding?

That is me, my dear. I am full of good ingredients, but the dish is

worthless. I am - I give it you in one word - sugar in the salad.'

'Well, I don't care, you're good,' reiterated Ottilia, a little

flushed by having failed to understand.

'I will tell you one thing,' replied Otto: 'You are!'

'Ah, well, that's what they all said of you,' moralised the girl;

'such a tongue to come round - such a flattering tongue!'

' O, you forget, I am a man of middle age,' the Prince chuckled.

'Well, to speak to you, I should think you was a boy; and Prince or

no Prince, if you came worrying where I was cooking, I would pin a

napkin to your tails. . . . And, O Lord, I declare I hope your

Highness will forgive me,' the girl added. 'I can't keep it in my

mind.'

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