“Then you had better present yourself at the levee to-morrow morning,” replied he, carelessly, while he turned into one of the window recesses, and resumed the conversation with one of the gentlemen-in-waiting.
I stood for some moments uncertain and undecided; reluctant on the one part to relinquish my claim as the bearer of the despatches, and equally unwilling to defer their delivery till the following day.
Adopting the former alternative, I took my papers from my sabretasche, and was about to place them in the hands of the aide-de-camp, when the folding-doors at the end of the apartment suddenly flew open, and a large and handsome man with a high bald forehead entered hastily.
The different persons in waiting sprang from their lounging attitudes upon the sofas, and bowed respectfully as he passed on towards another door. His dress was a plain blue coat, buttoned to the collar, and his only decoration a brilliant star upon the breast. There was that air, however, of high birth and bearing about him that left no doubt upon my mind he was of the blood royal.
As the aide-de-camp to whom I had been speaking opened the door for him to pass out, I could hear some words in a low voice, in which the phrases, “letters of importance” and “your Royal Highness” occurred. The individual addressed turned suddenly about, and casting a rapid glance around the room, without deigning a word in reply, walked straight up to where I was standing.
“Despatches for me, sir?” said he, shortly, taking, as he spoke, the packet from my hand.
“For his Royal Highness the commander-in-chief,” said I, bowing respectfully, and still uncertain in whose presence I was standing. He broke the seal without answering, and as his eye caught the first lines of the despatch, broke out into an exclamation of—
Ha, Peninsular news! When did you arrive, sir?”
“An hour since, sir.”
“And these letters are from—”