Michelle, after contemplating her husband, turned toward Berwick and Roger Egremont, and instantly both of them rose to their feet.
“Madam, madam,” cried Roger, almost sobbing, “we will defend you!” He ran forward and knelt at her feet. Berwick, making a low obeisance to her, spoke in his usual calm and measured voice.
“Madam,” he said, “Captain Egremont speaks for me as well as for himself, and I speak for the King of France. His Majesty will wreak a dreadful vengeance on those who have so deeply injured you. I make no apology for telling your Highness that you must leave this den of thieves within the hour. I and Captain Egremont, acting for His Most Christian Majesty, will take your Highness away; and trust to us to punish every man and woman at Orlamunde who has injured you!”
At this, he looked menacingly at the Countess Bertha, whom everybody had forgotten.
“I thank you, my lord Duke, and Captain Egremont,” said Michelle, making them a sweeping and splendid curtsey. “I leave this place, as you say, within the hour.”
“How, madam?” feebly demanded the Prince, having at last found his tongue.
“Like a princess, as I came—in a coach and six,” replied Michelle, with the utmost coolness.
“But—but—you cannot go, madam. I will not furnish you with a coach and six.”
At this the Countess Bertha laughed, and Michelle smiled.
“The coach and six are mine,—the gift of my aunt, the Duchess of Beaumanoir, on my marriage.”