“And he is a disloyal man and a rebel, and being both evil and unfortunate, I can but pity him; and besides, he is my brother,—we are the sons of one father.”
“Did you say your brother was both evil and unfortunate?” asked Michelle, leaning forward.
Now, this was an unlucky speech for the poor Princess, because it was already in the air, as Countess Bertha had said, that there was love between the Princess and the English gentleman.
“I did, madam,” replied Sir Hugo, impudently. “But perhaps you know him better than I.”
“I do,” retorted the Princess, in a soft voice. “I know that at St. Germains he had the high regard of his King and yours, and that of the King of France, upon whose will alone Orlamunde exists as an independent state. You are a very rash man, Hugo Stein, to show yourself in the presence of your half-brother Roger Egremont, and of Lieutenant-General the Duke of Berwick, who comes here with the fate of Orlamunde in his hands.”
Sir Hugo’s face turned scarlet as she called him Stein, and all his dear friends laughed—so much so that the Prince, who was playing lansquenet in the next room, asked what the joke was; a dozen persons pressed forward eagerly to tell him.
Presently Sir Hugo got near enough to the Princess to whisper in her ear, “You shall pay for that speech, my lady.”
“Just as you please,” smilingly replied Michelle, out aloud. “I do not think that Orlamunde is large enough to hold you and me much longer; and when you go, you carry with you the bribe of your master William of Orange,—but when I go, I take with me most of the ready money which goes to support the Countess Bertha.”
And with this shot the Princess lay back in her chair of state, her dark eyes full of laughter and triumph. Sir Hugo turned his back upon her, at which she laughed a rippling, silver laugh; and then the tale-bearers flew into the next room to tell the Prince that the Princess and Sir Hugo were quarrelling, or making love,—nobody exactly knew which.
On the next night was the weekly masked ball, which was, next to gambling, the very life of the princely palace of Monplaisir.