Kalenga then joined in the conversation, and the children were brought in and presented, Freda especially, a pretty, quaint child of thirteen, who had already made friends with Lady Hamilton. When Madame Ziska addressed her as Lady Hamilton, she smiled sadly and said:
“A title has often seemed a mockery to me, when I have been in so great poverty and obscurity for so many years. But it is a part of my son’s heritage, and that is why I hold to it.”
Madame Ziska, the soul of hospitality, proposed that they should all sup together.
“And how vexatious it will be of St. Arnaud if he is not here,” she said. “He must be detained somewhere. As I do not dance to-night, we can put off our supper until eight o’clock, and by that time he will probably be here.”
The afternoon passed only too quickly, Lady Hamilton listening to the adventures of Gavin, and every moment feeling a deeper thankfulness for the man he had become. She herself, accustomed in her youth to the most refined society, had formerly noted with regret many little things in Gavin which it was inevitable that he should acquire from the humble associates of his childhood and boyhood. But all these small faults of manners and language seemed to have disappeared. In two short months Gavin had become perfectly fitted for the society to which he was born and entitled.
Eight o’clock came, and Kalenga’s chair had just been wheeled up to the comfortable supper-table, when St. Arnaud appeared. Madame Ziska covered him with reproaches for deserting them on that, of all afternoons.
“Wait, madam,” mysteriously said St. Arnaud. “I have not been forgetful of Lady Hamilton, though I presume she thought I vanished into thin air when I disappeared so suddenly. I have been to see Prince Kaunitz at the Chancellery. The Chancellor has been to see the Empress Queen, and has just given me this.”
St. Arnaud drew from his pocket an elaborately sealed letter, with the imperial arms, addressed to “The Lady Hamilton.” It was a letter from the Court Chamberlain commanding the attendance of Lady Hamilton at the next weekly levee of the Empress Queen, on the following Tuesday evening.
Gavin jumped up, snapped his fingers, danced, laughed, embraced St. Arnaud a dozen times.
“Now,” he cried, “we will see what Sir Garvan Ameeltone”—with infinite contempt—“will do when her Majesty receives Lady Ameeltone!”