The Princess blushed, and said in a voice that could have won forgiveness from an ogre,—
“Pray forgive me, but like you I am bold of speech;” and then they both laughed, and a glance flashed between them,—they remembered that first meeting in the meadow.
So strong was the spell which Michelle cast over him that he would not willingly have left her side, but he was forced to remember his manners by her leaving him. And then the old Duchess called him, and proceeded to tell, in a loud voice, a very scandalous escapade in which his father had been engaged before Lady Castlemaine had driven him from court. And Roger, who had a delicate and sensitive pride, was forced to listen coolly and laugh, much against his will. On the whole, Madame de Beaumanoir inflicted quite as much pain on her friends as on her enemies.
There were cards, and Roger found himself placed at a quadrille table with the Princess. He watched her narrowly, for although he was used to seeing ladies of great condition gamble furiously, he had an invincible prejudice to it, and would have mortally hated to see the gambler’s thirst and hunger and greed in Michelle’s lovely eyes. But he saw instead a cool indifference, combined with no inconsiderable skill; and when she gathered up her stakes she carelessly left a part of them on the table. It was a very merry company, and Roger Egremont, being naturally of a free and jovial nature, felt the intoxication which comes with good company and good wine. Nevertheless, after saying good-night, he was in no mood for society on his homeward way, and asked to be excused from returning with Berwick in the coach. He walked back through the still and deserted fields, after midnight, going a little out of his way to stand on the same spot where he had met Michelle, and where his heart had beaten the long roll at the first glance from her dark eyes. The April moon was full, and he saw the place plainly, in the black and white of a radiant night.
He continued upon his way, thinking somewhat bitterly of Michelle’s remark, that the Jacobites could never expect to sing William of Orange out of England. And sure, as he neared the inn of Michot, he heard a rattling chorus borne out into the night, from the company in the common room.
“Each loyal subject fill his glass,
And keep the toast in mind, man;
Confusion to the whining Whigs,
The dregs of all mankind, man.
“You loyal subjects—”