“I know nothing good of him,” said Michelle, a deep blush appearing upon her pale cheek. “He had the insolence to pity me, as a neglected wife,—to—to—dare to say that I could find in him the devotion the Prince lacked—and much else. I ordered him from my presence; I could not order him from the palace, because I have no authority here—the Countess Bertha reigns at Orlamunde—” this with extreme bitterness. “He appeared with unabated assurance at the levee after this interview, and excepting that he is insolent to me, where once he cringed, there is no change in him. But I know that he has orders to get the twenty-four guns, if possible; and I believe he is offered a place at court in England, provided he can get them.”
Roger’s heart swelled as she spoke, but his spirits rose likewise. How sweet was the thought of revenge upon his enemy! And he had little doubt that Berwick would make Orlamunde too hot to hold Hugo Stein.
Then they talked together for an hour.
Michelle had much to ask of her friends in France, and some gentle words of sympathy for Berwick when he gave her, in a few words, some particulars of the loss of his young and lovely wife. At last she rose. Berwick, who was no waster of time, wished to start for Arnheim that afternoon.
“For I foresee,” he said with a grim smile, “that a week will be the extreme limit of our stay here. The Prince has graciously allowed Mr. Egremont a week to make up his mind to apologize for pitching Hugo Stein out of the window,—and, as I know he will not be able to do it in that time, I take it that we shall be leaving shortly.”
“Oh that I could go with you!” cried the poor Princess. “If you but knew—” Then she stopped speaking, rose quickly, and tripped away gayly, waving her hand and crying out, “Au revoir.”
All that day Michelle had the feeling of an impending crisis—something decisive was in the air. True it was that Berwick came armed with all the authority of the King of France, and as such, having great power over the Prince. But it was something more than that—a crisis was at hand in Michelle’s life. This she felt as she had never felt before. It made the time pass as if she were in a dream.
On the Wednesday, Berwick and Roger Egremont had left for the fortified places, which were only about fifteen miles away—and on the Friday were they expected to return.
As soon as their absence was known, Sir Hugo appeared at Monplaisir. He had thought it judicious to keep away for a day, especially until the blast of ridicule had blown over—for this precious crew fell upon each other with savage mirth when one of them met with disaster. At the levee on Wednesday evening, however, he appeared in the Saloon of the Swans. He was as cool, as calm, as handsome as ever, and as superbly dressed, except that he wore a new sword, without a jewelled handle. He had to hear many sly innuendoes, and much open rallying upon his exit through the window, on meeting his half-brother. He took it with stoical composure.
“My brother is quite light-headed in his fury,” he said, and told the story of Roger’s throwing the plate of beans into the face of William of Orange. He told it in a loud voice as he stood at the foot of the dais, so that the Princess, sitting on her canopied chair, heard him distinctly.