“Well,” said Philip, “tell me one thing.”
“What is that?”
“Why does my wife retain an English court about her?” said Philip, as he crossed his arms and looked his mother steadily in the face, as if he were convinced that she could not answer the question.
“For a very simple reason,” returned Anne of Austria; “because the English are her countrymen, because they have expended large sums in order to accompany her to France, and because it would be hardly polite—not politic, certainly—to dismiss abruptly those members of the English nobility who have not shrunk from any devotion or from any sacrifice.”
“A wonderful sacrifice indeed,” returned Philip, “to desert a wretched country to come to a beautiful one, where a greater effect can be produced for a crown than can be procured elsewhere for four! Extraordinary devotion, really, to travel a hundred leagues in company with a woman one is in love with!”
“In love, Philip! think what you are saying. Who is in love with Madame?”
“The Duke of Buckingham. Perhaps you will defend him, too.”
Anne of Austria blushed and smiled at the same time. The name of the Duke of Buckingham recalled certain recollections of a very tender and melancholy nature. “The Duke of Buckingham?” she murmured.
“Yes; one of those arm-chair soldiers——”
“The Buckinghams are loyal and brave,” said Anne of Austria, courageously.