"I condole with your Majesty upon the situation of your friend," said M. de Mallet, the moment he saw him: "I hope he is better."
The monarch smiled; he forgave the abruptness of the question, in favour of the excellence of the motive, and he replied that Mr. Montagu was fast recovering. "He regrets exceedingly," added he, "that it is not in his power to pay his devoirs here"—bowing to Pauline, "and well can I sympathize with him, as I know what he loses."
Pauline inquired modestly the particulars of the combat. "Upon my word, Madam," replied Roderick, "I know very little about it."
"I thought your Majesty had been engaged."
"That is the very reason. If I had not, the case might have been different; but as it was, I only just saw a great many people that tried to kill me, and a great many that I tried to kill, and the smoke hid all the rest."
"A very satisfactory account of a battle, upon my word," cried M. de Mallet, smiling; "but other people saw more of your Majesty's acts than you did yourself; and they say, you performed prodigies of valour."
"It is very kind of them to say so," said Roderick, "for I am sure it is more than they know."
"Your Majesty's modesty wishes to throw a veil over your valour," observed Pauline, "but luckily it cannot be concealed."
"Your praises, Madam, would make any man a coxcomb," returned the Monarch: "I own I have not the courage to refuse commendations from your lips."
Pauline blushed—she fancied she had said too much, and now remained silent.