“Oh, not cold⁠—believe an old man⁠—not from a cold, but from grief for her prince. Oh⁠—your mother, your mother! heigh-ho! Youth⁠—youth! Your father and I⁠—old friends as we were⁠—nearly murdered each other for her sake.”

The prince began to be a little incredulous.

“I was passionately in love with her when she was engaged⁠—engaged to my friend. The prince noticed the fact and was furious. He came and woke me at seven o’clock one morning. I rise and dress in amazement; silence on both sides. I understand it all. He takes a couple of pistols out of his pocket⁠—across a handkerchief⁠—without witnesses. Why invite witnesses when both of us would be walking in eternity in a couple of minutes? The pistols are loaded; we stretch the handkerchief and stand opposite one another. We aim the pistols at each other’s hearts. Suddenly tears start to our eyes, our hands shake; we weep, we embrace⁠—the battle is one of self-sacrifice now! The prince shouts, ‘She is yours;’ I cry, ‘She is yours⁠—’ in a word, in a word⁠—You’ve come to live with us, hey?”