M. de Mallet continued: “His bravery and nobleness of spirit were unequalled. Everyone praises him. There is certainly something very extraordinary in the character of the English. Their daring tempers and love of adventure lead them to quit peace and riches in their native country, to seek glory and distinction elsewhere. This Mr. Montagu is really an exalted young man.”
Pauline’s eyes flashed joy—she felt she loved her father better than ever—she could have embraced him as he spoke, for the praise of Edric sounded as the sweetest music in her ears. Strange that so slight an acquaintance should have produced so strong an emotion! but such and so inexplicable is love.
Pauline had now patience to hear the explanation of her father respecting Roderick. She even felt pleasure in the repetition of his exploits, for he was the friend of Edric; and she retired to rest—happy in herself, and contented with all the world; having been first assured by her father that the surgeon confidently expected Edric would soon recover. Pauline, however, would have been very much puzzled to explain the cause of the excessive contentment that she felt. The situation of herself and father was as hopeless as ever. They were still prisoners in a strange land, without fortune, and without friends; but so little does happiness depend upon external circumstances, that the breast of Pauline seemed to have been a stranger to it till now.
After arranging everything for the comfort of the refugees and his own soldiers, Roderick took a few hours of hurried repose. When he arose in the morning, he sent his compliments to M. de Mallet and his daughter, to demand permission to wait upon them. This was instantly and gladly accorded, and in a few minutes the Irish hero was in their tent.
“I condole with your Majesty upon the situation of your friend,” said M. de Mallet, the moment he saw him: “I hope he is better.”
The monarch smiled; he forgave the abruptness of the question, in favour of the excellence of the motive, and he replied that Mr. Montagu was fast recovering. “He regrets exceedingly,” added he, “that it is not in his power to pay his devoirs here”—bowing to Pauline, “and well can I sympathize with him, as I know what he loses.”
Pauline inquired modestly the particulars of the combat. “Upon my word, Madam,” replied Roderick, “I know very little about it.”
“I thought your Majesty had been engaged?”
“That is the very reason. If I had not, the case might have been different; but as it was, I only just saw a great many people who tried to kill me, and a great many whom I tried to kill, and the smoke hid all the rest.”
“A very satisfactory account of a battle, upon my word,” cried M. de Mallet, smiling; “but other people saw more of your Majesty’s acts than you did yourself; and they say, you performed prodigies of valour.”
“It is very kind of them to say so,” said Roderick, “for I am sure it is more than they know.”
“Your Majesty’s modesty wishes to throw a veil over your valour,” observed Pauline, “but luckily it cannot be concealed.”
“Your praises, Madam, would make any man a coxcomb,” returned the Monarch: “I own I have not the courage to refuse commendations from your lips.”
Pauline blushed—she fancied she had said too much, and now remained silent.
“I cannot describe how much I admire your Majesty’s leniency to the inhabitants of the city,” said M. de Mallet: “it proves your benevolence is equal to your valour, though indeed it was sound policy to act as you have done; for by this you have conciliated the hearts of the Spaniards; whereas, if you had exercised any cruelty, they would have risen against you en masse; but this, I dare say, your Majesty considered.”
“Indeed,” replied Roderick smiling, “my Majesty considered no such thing; I only thought as a man: I did not like to see my fellow-creatures burnt to death, or poniarded if they attempted to escape; I should not have liked it at all, if I had been in a similar situation, and so I did all in my power to save them—that is all I know about the matter. But to change the subject, I have a great favour to beg of you, Mademoiselle de Mallet.”
“What is it?” asked Pauline: “your Majesty has only to speak to be obeyed.”
“Oh! for Heaven’s sake do not talk of obedience—it is I who should obey—I only ask a favour, and it is, that you will permit me to bring Dr. Entwerfen to kneel at your feet and kiss your fair hand, in token of his homage.”
“I would not advise Pauline to let him kneel,” said M. de Mallet laughing, “as I fear, if she does, there will be some difficulty in getting him up again.”
“Your Majesty’s commands—” said Pauline.
“Do not talk of commands,” interrupted Roderick; “I hate the word.”
“Your Majesty’s wishes, then,” continued Pauline smiling, “shall be complied with.”
“This evening,” cried the gay monarch, “the doctor shall make his appearance. Till then, adieu!”
“Will your Majesty have the kindness to present my best wishes to Mr. Montagu for his recovery,” requested M. de Mallet.
“Certainly,” replied Roderick; “but am I to tell Edric that Mademoiselle de Mallet has no wishes for his welfare?”
“I wish—I hope—that is, I think—” stammered Pauline.
“My daughter means her sentiments are exactly similar to my own upon the subject,” said M. de Mallet gravely; for he was not at all pleased with the interpretation he thought the King might put upon the embarrassment of his daughter.
“Very well!” repeated Roderick provokingly: “I shall tell Edric, that M. de Mallet and his daughter think exactly alike of him.—That is it, is it not?”
M. de Mallet was about to reply, when the King, nodding and waving his hand, bade them adieu, and hurried away. “I don’t know what to make of the Irish hero,” said M. de Mallet, the moment he had left
