xtremely touched by this immense mark of condescension and repentance
for wrong done, Colonel Esmond bowed down so low as almost to kiss the
gracious young hand that conferred on him such an honor, and took his
guard in silence. The swords were no sooner met, than Castlewood knocked
up Esmond's with the blade of his own, which he had broke off short at
the shell; and the Colonel falling back a step dropped his point with
another very low bow, and declared himself perfectly satisfied.

"Eh bien, Vicomte!" says the young Prince, who was a boy, and a French
boy, "il ne nous reste qu'une chose a faire:" he placed his sword upon
the table, and the fingers of his two hands upon his breast:--"We have
one more thing to do," says he; "you do not divine it?" He stretched out
his arms:--"Embrassons nous!"

The talk was scarce over when Beatrix entered the room:--What came she
to seek there? She started and turned pale at the sight of her
brother and kinsman, drawn swords, broken sword-blades, and papers yet
smouldering in the brazier.

"Charming Beatrix," says the Prince, with a blush which became him very
well, "these lords have come a-horseback from London, where my sister
lies in a despaired state, and where her successor makes himself
desired. Pardon me for my escapade of last evening. I had been so long a
prisoner, that I seized the occasion of a promenade on horseback, and my
horse naturally bore me towards you. I found you a Queen in your little
court, where you deigned to entertain me. Present my homages to your
maids of honor. I sighed as you slept, under the window of your chamber,
and then retired to seek rest in my own. It was there that these
gentlemen agreeably roused me. Yes, milords, for that is a happy day
that makes a Prince acquainted, at whatever cost to his vanity, with
such a noble heart as that of the Marquis of Esmond. Mademoiselle,
may we take your coach to town? I saw it in the hangar, and this poor
Marquis must be dropping with sleep."

"Will it please the King to breakfast before he goes?" was all Beatrix
could say. The roses had shuddered out of her cheeks; her eyes were
glaring; she looked quite old. She came up to Esmond and hissed out a
word or two:--"If I did not love you before, cousin," says she, "think
how I love you now." If words could stab, no doubt she would have killed
Esmond; she looked at him as if she could.

But her keen words gave no wound to Mr. Esmond; his heart was too hard.
As