ting-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 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 curtsy.

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