“ ‘You have been long from England, my lord,’ says the Queen: ‘why were you not here to give a home to your mother and sister?’
“ ‘I am come, Madam, to stay now, if the Queen desires me,’ says the Prince, with another low bow.
“ ‘You have taken a foreign wife, my lord, and a foreign religion; was not that of England good enough for you?’
“ ‘In returning to my father’s church,’ says the Prince, ‘I do not love my mother the less, nor am I the less faithful servant of your majesty.’
“Here,” says Beatrix, “the favorite gave me a little signal with her hand to fall back, which I did, though I died to hear what should pass; and whispered something to the Queen, which made her Majesty start and utter one or two words in a hurried manner, looking towards the Prince, and catching hold with her hand of the arm of her chair. He advanced still nearer towards it; he began to speak very rapidly; I caught the words, ‘Father, blessing, forgiveness,’—and then presently the Prince fell on his knees; took from his breast a paper he had there, handed it to the Queen, who, as soon as she saw it, flung up both her arms with a scream, and took away that hand nearest the Prince, and which he endeavored to kiss. He went on speaking with great animation of gesture, now clasping his hands together on his heart, now opening them as though to say: ‘I am here, your brother, in your power.’ Lady Masham ran round on the other side of the chair, kneeling too, and speaking with great energy. She clasped the Queen’s hand on her side, and picked up the paper her Majesty had let fall. The Prince rose and made a further speech as though he would go; the favorite on the other hand urging her mistress, and then, running back to the Prince, brought him back once more close to the chair. Again he knelt down and took the Queen’s hand, which she did not withdraw, kissing it a hundred times; my lady all the time, with sobs and supplications, speaking over the chair. This while the Queen sat with a stupefied look, crumpling the paper with one hand, as my Prince embraced the other; then of a sudden she uttered several piercing shrieks, and burst into a great fit of hysteric tears and laughter. ‘Enough, enough, sir, for this time,’ I heard Lady Masham say: and the chairman, who had withdrawn round the Banqueting-room, came back, alarmed by the cries. ‘Quick,’ says Lady Masham, ‘get some help,’ and I ran towards the Doctor, who, with the Bishop of Rochester, came up instantly. Lady Masham whispered the Prince he might hope for the very best; and to be ready tomorrow; and he hath gone away to the Bishop of Rochester’s house, to meet several of his friends there. And so the great stroke is struck,” says Beatrix, going down on her knees, and clasping her hands. “God save the King: God save the King!”
Beatrix’s tale told, and the young lady herself calmed somewhat of her agitation, we asked with regard to the Prince, who was absent with Bishop Atterbury, and were informed that ’twas likely he might remain abroad the whole day. Beatrix’s three kinsfolk looked at one another at this intelligence: ’twas clear the same thought was passing through the minds of all.
But who should begin to break the news? Monsieur Baptiste, that is Frank Castlewood, turned very red, and looked towards Esmond; the Colonel bit his lips, and fairly beat a retreat into the window: it was Lady Castlewood that opened upon Beatrix with the news which we knew would do anything but please her.
“We are glad,” says she, taking her daughter’s hand, and speaking in a gentle voice, “that the guest is away.”
Beatrix drew back in an instant, looking round her at us three, and as if divining a danger. “Why glad?” says she, her breast beginning to heave; “are you so soon tired of him?”
“We think one of us is devilishly too fond of him,” cries out Frank Castlewood.
“And which is it—you, my lord, or is it mamma, who is jealous because he drinks my health? or is it the head of the family” (here she turned with an imperious look towards Colonel Esmond), “who has taken of late to preach the King sermons?”
“We do not say you are too free with his Majesty.”
“I thank you, madam,” says Beatrix, with a toss of the head and a curtsey.
But her mother continued, with very great calmness and dignity—“At least we have not said so, though we might, were it possible for a mother to say such words to her own daughter, your father’s daughter.”
“Eh? mon père,” breaks out Beatrix, “was no better than other persons’ fathers.” And again she looked towards the Colonel.
We all felt a shock as she uttered those two or three French words; her manner was exactly imitated from that of our foreign guest.
“You had not learned to speak French a month ago, Beatrix,” says her mother, sadly, “nor to speak ill of your father.”
Beatrix, no doubt, saw that slip she had made in her flurry, for she blushed crimson: “I have learnt to honor the King,” says she, drawing up, “and ’twere as well that others suspected neither his Majesty nor me.”
“If you respected your mother a little more,” Frank said, “Trix, you
