“Yes,” cried the king, “he is pretty well again; he can smile again, now!”
It seems his features had appeared to be fixed, or stiffened. It is said, he has been obliged to hold his hand to his mouth, to hide it, ever since his stroke,—which he refuses to acknowledge was paralytic.
The queen looked as if some comic notion had struck her, and, after smiling a little while to herself, said, with a sort of innocent archness, very pleasing,
“To be sure, it is very wrong to laugh at such things,—I know that; but yet, I could not help thinking, when his mouth was in that way, that it was very lucky people's happiness did not depend upon his smiles!”
Afterwards, she named other persons, whose behaviour and manners pointed them out to her, in defiance of obscurity.
“A lady,” said she, “came up to me, that I could not see, so I was forced to ask who she was; and immediately she burst into a laugh. 'O,' says I, 'that can be only Mrs. De Rolles!'—and so it proved.”
Methinks, by this trait, she should be a near relation to my Miss Larolles![195]
WILL MISS BURNEY WRITE ANY MORE?
When these, and some more anecdotes which I do not so clearly remember, were told, the king left us, and went to Mr. Bernard Dewes. A pause ensuing, I, too, drew back, meaning to return to my original station, which, being opposite the fire, was never a bad one. But the moment I began retreating, the queen, bending forward, and speaking in a very low voice, said, “Miss Burney!”—and, upon my coming up to her, almost in a whisper, cried, “But shall we have no more—nothing more?”