“Thank you, dear nurse, I’ve had enough of sleep. Indeed, I begin to feel so strong that I think I shall very soon be able to undergo that—”
Pauline stopped and burst into a fit of merry laughter.
“It’s that caronation, now, ye’ll be thinkin’ av?” said the widow Lynch, with a reproving look. “Faix, it’s no laughin’ matter ye’ll find it, dear. It’s onaisy is the hid as wears a crown.”
“Why you talk, nurse, as if you had worn one yourself, and knew all about its troubles.”
“Sure, av I didn’t, me progenissors did, in Munster, before you English konkered us an’ turned us topsy-turvy. But nivver mind. I don’t bear no ill-will to ’ee, darlint, bekaise o’ the evil deeds o’ yer forefathers. I’m of a forgivin’ disposition. An’ it’s a good quane you’ll make, too, av ye don’t let the men have too much o’ their own way. But I do think that you an’ me togither’ll be more than a match for them all. D’ee think ye could stand the caronation now, dear?”
“Yes, I think I could. But really, you know, I find it so hard to believe it is not all a joke, despite the grave deputations that have waited on me, and the serious arguments they have used. The idea of making me—Me—a Queen!”
Again Pauline Rigonda gave way to merry laughter, and again did her lady of the bedchamber administer a reproof by expressing the hope that she might take the matter as lightly a year hence.
This pertinacious reference to possible trouble being mingled with the contemplated honour checked Pauline’s disposition to laugh, and she had quite recovered her gravity when her brother Otto entered.
“Pina, I’ve come to tell you that they’ve fixed the coronation for Monday next if you feel up to it, and that the new palace is begun—a very different one, let me tell you, from this wretched affair with its tumble-down walls and low roof.”
“Indeed—is it so very grand?”