hop of Rochester, came up
instantly. Lady Masham whispered the Prince he might hope for the very
best; and to be ready to-morrow; 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 pere," 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