And the stately beauty placed herself between the two liveried lacqueys, as Zenobia in the middle of her guards.
"Marguerite!"—the pretty little Française tripped up to her—"wipe this blood from my face."
Beautiful, insulted creature! I thought that I looked upon some wounded Boadicea, with her daughters extracting the arrow from her cheek.
"And now, kind Charlotte, fetch my cloak; and follow me to Prospect House, with what I may require for the night. Till the general's return, I stay not here one minute."
Then, without a syllable, or a look of leave-taking, the wise and noble girl—doubtless unconsciously remembering her early Hindoo braveries, the lines of matchlock men, the bowing slaves, the processions, and her jewelled state of old—marched away in magnificent beauty, accompanied in silence by the whole astonished household.
Mrs. Tracy and her son were left alone: the silly, silly mother thought him "hardly used." Julian, whose natural effrontery had entirely deserted him, looked like what he was—a guilty coward: and the mother, who had pampered up her "fine high-spirited son" to his full-grown criminality by a foolish education, really—when she had time to think of any thing but him—was excessively frightened. The general would be back to-morrow, and then—and then!—she dreaded to picture that explosion of his wrath.