“I'll tell you,” said he: “there's the post of secretary of embassy just vacant at Madrid; your knowledge of the language, and your Spanish blood, admirably fit you for the mission. Shall I ask for it in your behalf?”
I could scarcely speak, for gratitude. I was longing for some “charge,” some public station that would give me a recognized position as well as wealth.
The “Duc” hurried from the room, and after an absence of half-an-hour came back, laughing, to say: “This was quite a brilliant idea of mine, for the Minister of Foreign Affairs was just in conversation with the King, and seeing that they were both in good humor, and discussing the Madrid mission, I even asked for the post of ambassador for you,—ay, and, what's better, obtained it, too.”
I could not believe my ears as I heard these words, and the Prince was obliged to repeat his tidings ere I could bring myself to credit them. “And now for a little plan of my own,” resumed he; “I am about to make a short visit to England, and, better still, to Ireland. You must accompany me. Of course I travel 'incog.,' which means that my real rank will be known to all persons in authority; but, avoiding all state and parade, I shall be able to see something of that remarkable country of which I have heard so much.”
I acknowledged a degree of curiosity to the full as great, but bewailed my ignorance of the language as a great drawback to the pleasures of the journey.
“But you do know a little English,” said the Prince.
“Not a word,” said I, coolly. “When a child, I believe I could speak it fluently,—so I have heard; but since that period I have utterly forgotten all about it.” This may seem to have been a gratuitous fiction on my part, but it was not so; and to prove it, I must tell the reader a little incident which was running in my mind at that moment. A certain Tipperary gentleman, whose name is too familiar for me to print, once called upon a countryman in Paris, and, after ringing stoutly at the bell, the door was opened by a very smartly dressed “maid,” whose grisette cap and apron immediately seemed to pronounce her to be French. “Est Capitaine,—est Monsieur O'Shea ici?” asked he, in considerable hesitation.
“Oh, sir! you're English,” exclaimed the maid, in a very London accent.
“Yes, my little darlin', I was asking for Captain O'Shea.”
“Ah, sir, you 're Irish!” said she, with a very significant fall of the voice. “So,” as he afterwards remarked, “my French showed that I was English, and my English that I was Irish.”