"But sure he is the Prince of the world; let his nobility remain in his Court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some, that humble themselves, may; but the many will be too chill and tender; and they'll be for the flowery way, that leads to the broad gate and the great fire."
—SHAKSPEARE, "All's Well that Ends Well," Act iv. Scene 5.
"My Dearest Mother,—(For I cannot bear to call you anything else)—I have so much to tell you that I know not where to begin. I am now, as you will see by my date, at St. Germains, which is a rather pretty place. My step-mother is kind to me, in her way, which is not exactly your way; but I am quite comfortable, so pray be not troubled about me. I like Philip, my younger brother, very much; he oft reminds me of Charley. My elder brother, Edward, I have not yet seen, he being now absent from home. I have seen the Pretender and the late Queen Mary,[[1]] both of whom are very tall persons, having dark hair and eyes. I have made no friends here but one; you shall hear about her shortly. So much for my news.
"And now I wish very much to hear yours. Are you all well? And pray tell me anything of note concerning any person whom I know. All news from England has great interest for me now.
"Pray give all manner of loving messages for me. Tell my dear father that the people here hunt a great deal, but always stags. There is no cock-fighting, at which I am glad, for 'tis but a cruel sport to my thinking; nor no baiting nor wrestling, but a great deal of duelling. I like the French gentlemen ill, and the ladies worse. Bell should come here to see the modes; 'twould give her infinite pleasure. I can speak French tolerable well now, and if my father and you choose, could teach Lucy on my return. For I am looking forward to that, Mother dear—sometimes very much indeed. To think that 'tis six months, nearly, since I saw one of you! and if you have writ I have not had your letters. If aught should bring Harry to Paris, do pray bid him visit me; I should be so infinitely glad. Pray give my love to Cicely, and tell her I would she knew my woman here, whom I like mightily, and so would she. I hope Charley is a good boy, and that Lucy tries to fill my place with you. At the end of this month, if my Lady Ingram say nought, I shall ask her when she will part with me. I beg that you will write to me, if 'twere but a line. Indeed I should like dearly to hear from every one of you. Anything you like to write will be infinitely welcome to—
"Madam,
"Your dutiful child and faithful servant,
"CELIA INGRAM.[[2]]
"ST. GERMAIN-EN-LAYE,
May 15, 1712."
Celia folded her letter, addressed it, and sat thinking. How would they receive it? She pictured Lucy rushing into the parlor, waving it above her head, and Isabella languidly rebuking her for her rough entrance. She could guess the Squire's comments on many things she had said, and she knew that the very mention of the Pretender would call forth some strong participles. Madam Passmore would fold up the letter with "Dear child!" and drop it into her ample pocket. Cicely would courtesy and ask if Mrs. Celia was a-coming. One month more, and then surely Lady Ingram must be satisfied. But then came another thought. She would be very sorry to leave Philip and Patient, even to return to Ashcliffe. Would Lady Ingram be induced to let her take Patient with her? As to Philip, surely he could visit her if he chose.
"Mademoiselle!" said the voice of Thérèse beside her.
Celia turned, and saw that Thérèse was holding a little pink note, which having delivered, the French maid departed. She broke the seal, and discovered to her surprise that the note was from Lady Ingram herself. It ran thus:
"MY DAUGHTER,—I shall not be able to receive you this afternoon, as I am suffering from megrims.[[3]] I will send Philip to keep you company. I wish you to know that when I return to Paris, which will be in four days, I will lead you to kiss the hand of the King of France. After this you will be able to enter into company.