“Mem.: To write to Mr. Richard Egremont’s superior at Clermont and say that Mr. Egremont shows signs of abandoning his profession.”
“You should hear him fiddle, and hear him sing; no lark ever had a sweeter note,” said Berwick. At this the old lady declared she must and should take Dicky by force to Orlamunde.
It was, however, time then to start. Dicky bowed low to the ladies, and François wrung Berwick’s hand, and Dicky and Roger hugged each other like a couple of schoolboys. Roger sprung on Merrylegs, and Dicky disappeared into the forest. By running fast he could reach a point where the highroad was visible and he could see his more than brother once more.
There seemed nothing to delay the moving of the cavalcade, but yet no move was made. Madame de Beaumanoir explained the hitch in a manner very unlike her usual careless merriment. She said, quite grimly,—
“I must await the letter containing the precious secret of the King of France. A secret forsooth! As if all the kings of France could keep me from finding it out! Your politicians are ever as blind as bats. They never dream that any one can find out anything!”
Just then a great dust was seen on the highroad from Marly, and a gentleman on a briskly galloping horse rode up to them. It was Monsieur de Sennécy, one of the gentlemen in attendance on the French King. He dismounted, and taking from his pocket two letters, addressed and sealed by the French King, he handed one to Madame de Beaumanoir, and the other to the Princess Michelle. Madame de Beaumanoir received hers singularly for a person to receive a letter from the Grand Monarque. She turned the letter over slowly, her usually merry, keen old face quite grave, and looking full at Michelle broke the seal. There were only a few lines, which she read at a glance and then, turning to Michelle and then to Berwick, said, meaningly,—
“As if I did not know it! Well—may no harm come of it.”
Michelle held her letter in her hand, and grew ashy pale, fingering it instead of opening it.
“You know the contents, mademoiselle?” said Monsieur de Sennécy, in a surprised voice. Michelle’s pallor and agitation could not be overlooked.
“Certainly, monsieur,” replied Michelle, with an effort; and then, with a supreme struggle, she regained her composure, opened the letter, which was a long one, read it through steadily, kissed the King’s signature at the end, and then looking up, fixed her eyes on Roger Egremont, although she spoke to Monsieur de Sennécy.