"I may speak at my own table! I may say what I wish! Do you think that I am Griselda in the silly tale to suck my thumb patiently while you do what you please! By the living God, I would that I was back in Saxony! But little you care——"
"Anne!" cried William. "Oh, Anne!"
"'Anne, Anne,'" she mocked him. "How long is Anne to endure it?"
The Countess of Egmont rose in her place and beckoned to Rénèe.
"Her Highness is ill," she said quickly. "It is a shame to expose her."
The Prince caught at the words.
"Yes, you are ill—let them see you to your chamber."
"I am not ill!" cried Anne, with a look of hate at the Countess, "but heart-sick with the treatment I get."
She rose too, glittering in her brocades and dragging the cloth awry.
"So I am to be sent from my own table," her railing continued. She swayed on her feet and burst into hysteric tears; the Prince caught her arm; she turned and struck him feebly with her other hand.