“Oh, do not be astonished at that,” said the girl, “the duke and father are quite upset about it. They are like two bodies with one soul; but father sometimes cries out against him, saying he is betrayed. Who betrays him? I do not know and between us I little want to know. Father lives like a soul in purgatory, fretting about something which never comes.”
“But the King, he is not well disposed to us?”
“Speak low. The King,” replied Andrea, looking timidly round. “I am afraid the King is very fickle. The interest which he professed for our house, for each of us, cooled off, without my being able to understand it. He does not look at me and yesterday he turned back on me—which was when I fainted in the garden.”
“Then little Gilbert was right.”
“To tell everybody that I fainted? what does it matter to the miserable little rogue? I know, my dear Philip,” added Andrea laughing, “that it is not the proper thing to faint in a royal residence but it is not one of those things that one does for the fun of it.”
“Poor dear, I can well believe that it is not your fault: but go on.”
“That is all; and Master Gilbert might have withheld his remarks about it.”
“There you are abusing the poor boy again.”
“And you taking his defense.”
“For mercy’s sake, do not be so rude to him, so hard, for I have heard how you treat him. But, goodness, what is the matter now?”