‘He befriended the cause of Charles Edward, did he not?’ asked Gerald eagerly.
‘Yes,’ said she, smiling at the ardour with which he asked the question. ‘Do you feel deep interest in the fortunes of that Prince?’
The youth clasped his hands together and pressed them to his heart, without a word.
‘Your family, perhaps, supported that cause?’
‘They did, lady. When I was an infant, I prayed for its success; as I grew older, I learned to sorrow for its failure.’
There was something so true and so natural in the youth’s expression as he spoke, that the Marquise was touched by it, and turned away her head to conceal her emotion.
‘The game is not played out yet, boy,’ said she at last; ‘there are great men, and wise ones too, who say that the condition of Europe, the peace of the world, requires the recognition of rights so just as those of the Stuarts. They see, too, that in the denial of these claims the Church is wounded, and the triumph of a dangerous heresy proclaimed. Who can say at what moment it may be the policy of the Continent to renew the struggle?’
‘Oh, speak on, lady: tell me more of what fills my heart with highest hope,’ exclaimed he rapturously. ‘Do not, I beseech you, look on me as the poor stroller, the thing of tinsel and spangles, but as one in whose veins generous blood is running. I am a Géraldine, and the Geraldines are all noble.’
The sudden change in the youth’s aspect, the rich, full tones of his voice, as, gaining courage with each word, he asserted his claim to consideration, seemed to have produced an effect upon the Marquise, who pondered for some time without speaking.
‘Mayhap, lady, I have offended you by this rash presumption,’ said Gerald, as he watched her downcast eyes and steadfast expression; ‘but forgive me, as one so little skilled in life, that he mistakes gentle forbearance for an interest in his fortunes.’