"Madame," interrupted the duke, "you forget that you are speaking of his majesty the King of France!"
"King of France? There is no question of a king, but of my brother- in-law, of whose faults—nay, sins, I may surely speak, within the walls of my own cabinet, I suppose."
"Madame," replied the duke, trying to draw up his small person until he fairly stood on tiptoe, "madame, I forbid you to express yourself in such terms of your sovereign and mine."
"Forbid me to speak the truth, you mean. And to be sure, at a court like this, where everybody feeds on flattery, truth is strangely out of place."
"Like yourself, for instance," observed the duke.
"Yes, like myself," replied the duchess, with a sweet smile that illumined her plain features, and lent them a passing beauty. "I believe that I am most unwelcome among the fine and fashionable folks of Paris; but it is not my fault that I am here, a poor, homely sparrow in a flock of peacocks and parrots."
"Madame," replied the duke, pompously, "if you choose to consider yourself as a sparrow, you have my full consent to do so, although I must say that it is somewhat presuming for any one so to designate the woman whom I honored with my hand. But I must always regret that you have never displayed enough tact to lay aside your plebeian German manners, and resume those of the courtly and elegant entourage of the refined King of France."
The eyes of the duchess shot fire, and the hue on her cheeks deepened to scarlet.
"Your manners may be refined, monseigneur; but God shield me from your morals! The war you are waging against my native land is one of assassination and rapine; and oh! how I wish that I were free to leave France forever, that I might suffer and die with my dear, slaughtered countrymen! But dearly as I love my native land, I love my children still more. Maternal love is stronger in my heart than patriotism, and my Elizabeth and my Philip are more to me than Germany!"
"You say nothing of me," observed the duke, sentimentally. "Am I, then, nothing to you?"