“But I really believe,” he complained, “that the Empress Queen can work twenty-four hours in the day, and she wishes me to do the same. Will you believe it, in the middle of the levee she sent me word that I must look over a batch of dispatches, awaiting me in her closet, and I actually fell asleep over them, as I had been at work since six this morning. After the levee her Majesty came into the closet and shook me with her own hand until I waked. And, confidentially, I may say I did not open my eyes as soon as I might. Then she said in the briskest tone you can imagine: ‘Come, let us to work. We must earn our bread.’ ‘Thank you, madam,’ I replied, ‘I cannot speak for your Majesty, but I know the Emperor and myself have earned at least a month’s bread by the work we have done this day.’ ‘Well,’ said her Majesty, ‘I have spent more hours than either of you in state affairs to-day, and I have likewise given, as I always do, all the attention necessary to the education and training of my ten children.’ ‘The good God has spared me the ten children, madam, but I believe if your Majesty had twenty children to look after, you would still do more work than the Emperor and myself—and we are two of the most persistently industrious men living.’ This made her Majesty laugh, and she said: ‘Poor, good Kaunitz, go home. I have sent the Emperor to bed, and I alone will work at these dispatches.’ I would have stayed at that, but she sent me away after a little. So here I am, late, but glad to get here on any terms.”
The great Chancellor was a charming host, and when they gathered around the supper-table, a small company of the brightest wits in Vienna, he infected every one present with his own gayety and charm. He distinguished Lady Hamilton by his attentions, and it was a small but cherished triumph for Gavin, who counted that among the happiest evenings of his life.
Supper was not over nor the guests ready to depart until some time after midnight. Others had come in, and the party grew merrier as the hours flew by. As the final move was made to go, Prince Kaunitz stood up, with a glass of champagne in his hand, and said:
“Before parting, pledge with me the health of a lady who has only lately come to adorn Vienna, but who, we hope, will long remain with us.”
The Prince fixed his smiling glance upon Lady Hamilton, who sat opposite to him. She rose, too, but the smile froze on her lips and she turned deadly pale at the noiseless entrance of a person by a door directly facing her and behind Prince Kaunitz. The Chancellor, not hearing the new arrival, continued with much grace: “The lady whose health I propose is Lady Gavin Hamilton.”
Lady Hamilton’s sudden pallor and agitation had not escaped notice, and a slight movement on the part of the newcomer had attracted every eye to him. The Chancellor, still unhearing, happened to glance into a tall mirror over the fireplace, opposite him, and in it he saw Sir Gavin Hamilton, standing perfectly cool and composed, his hand on his dress sword, and looking Lady Hamilton full in the eye. She, blanched and trembling, yet undauntedly returned his gaze as she stood. The only change of attitude she made was to lay her hand lightly upon the shoulder of Gavin, who sat next her. But the action was eloquent. It was as if she said, “Here is my charge and my protector in one.”
Gavin’s face had turned scarlet as his mother’s grew white. He sat quite motionless, for once not knowing what to say or do. Many times he had wondered what he should do when his mother and father met, as they were likely to do at any moment after Lady Hamilton’s arrival in Vienna, and he had never yet hit upon any course of action. But he had vauntingly said to himself, “When the time comes I shall do the right thing.” The time had come, and he sat silent and disconcerted and feeling nothing but a furious anger and helplessness.
Lady Hamilton continued to look Sir Gavin calmly in the eye, and the pause grew momentous. A clock ticking in the room seemed a loud noise, so utter was the stillness. Seconds passed, which seemed minutes, and as Lady Hamilton’s glance remained fixed on Sir Gavin, they seemed to change places. She grew courageous, and the crimson returned to her face; while the fresh colour left his cheeks, and he, this man of iron composure, grew tremulous. The Chancellor, who watched it all, and who enjoyed it from the bottom of his heart—for Kaunitz had an elfish spirit which made him delight in awkward contretemps for others—suddenly spoke in a very cool, soft voice: “Give Sir Gavin Hamilton a glass,” he said to a servant. “He will join us, no doubt, in our homage to Lady Hamilton.”
All there fully expected to see Sir Gavin touch his sword as he replied to Prince Kaunitz. So, indeed, he wished to do; but Lady Hamilton’s steady glance held him as if by mesmeric power. Mechanically and against his own volition he raised the glass handed him by the servant to his lips and drank as the others did. Then, quickly recovering himself, he threw the costly glass on the floor, where it crashed into a hundred pieces, and, turning his back, walked quickly out.
Whatever Lady Hamilton felt, she had managed to retain her self-possession perfectly. Not so Gavin. He felt dazed and disconcerted, and but for St. Arnaud’s tactful manner of getting him out of the room would have showed the confusion which reigned in his soul. Prince Kaunitz himself put Lady Hamilton into the carriage. Gavin entered after her, and St. Arnaud, saying he wished a breath of air before going to bed, followed on foot.