This little residence, bought by the late Baron Taverney, served as lodging for his son when he came to town, which was rarely, and for Andrea, when she slept in town.
After her conflict with the Queen, unable to bear meeting the woman who loved her husband, Andrea had made up her mind to go away from the rival, who visited on her retaliation for all her griefs, and whom the woes of the Queen, great though they were, always remained beneath the sufferings of the loving woman.
All concurred then in making this evening a happy one for the ex-Queen’s maid of honor. Nothing should trouble her. Instead of a room in a palace where the walls are all ears and eyes, she was harboring her child in her own little, secluded house.
As soon as she was closeted with Sebastian in her boudoir, she drew him to a lounge, on which were concentrated the lights from both candles and fire.
“Oh, my boy, is it really you?” she exclaimed with a joy which still quivered with lingering doubt.
“Mother!” ejaculated Sebastian with an outburst of the heart, flowing like refreshing dews on Andrea’s burning heart and enfevered veins.
“And the meeting to be here,” said she, looking round with terror towards the room whence he had been stolen.
“What do you mean by ‘Here?'”
“Fifteen years ago, my boy, you were born in this room, and I bless the mercy of the Almighty that you are miraculously restored to me.”
“Yes, miraculously indeed,” said the youth, “for if I had not feared for my father——“