“And—and now,” said Albert, when the luncheon at last was concluded, and having clearly in mind the talk about the little Queen that was to follow, “where sail we find de old lady?”
“We shall find her in the sitting-room, Albert,” said Miss Bel-more, her kind gray eyes dancing with the amusement which she was making such an effort to conceal. So it was quite plain that these little uninvited visitors to Windsor Castle were mistaking Her Majesty for Her Majesty's mother! She wondered for the moment if she ought not to tell them of their absurd mistake; and yet no—she hardly had the right to do that either; for had not a little conference with Her Majesty resulted in the conclusion that they would not disillusionize their little guests if they could help it? If possible they should leave the Castle as they entered it—the Queen of England still the dream-queen of their imagination, regal and stately always, and perennially arrayed in crown, ermine and jewels, and all the royal insignia of her office. They, at any rate, would not be the ones to acquaint them with the fact that even queens sometimes grow to be grandmothers, taking more comfort in rocking-chairs than thrones, vastly preferring lace caps to crowns, and behaving in general like other dear grandmothers the world over. And, in the mean time, what a pleasure to talk familiarly with these same bright little visitors, who more likely than not would have retired into speechless embarrassment had anyone ventured the announcement that the great Queen of England was none other than the friendly “old lady” with whom they were taking all the liberties of commonplace, every-day acquaintance! And so, happily, no doubt, for their ease of mind, no one felt called upon to make the announcement.
“Have you been here ever since?” asked Albert, the moment they reached the sitting-room and descried the Queen in the same chair in which they had left her.
“Ever since,” answered Her Majesty.
“And haven't you had any luncheon?” in a tone of real concern, and going close to her side, so that he leaned against her knee.
“Oh, yes, I have had my luncheon served right here, to save me the trouble of moving; and now I am ready and waiting to have our talk about little Isabel de Valois.”
“Did these belong to her?” asked Marie-Celeste, standing in open-eyed wonder before a mosaic table, which had been cleared to make room for a quaint collection of foreign-looking, childish possessions—a mandolin, a well-worn little missal, a remarkable doll, a necklace or two, numerous little childish trinkets, and thrown over a chair, standing close to the table, a little gown of white silk and exquisite embroidery, yellow and limp with age, but none the less dainty and lovely.
“Yes, all of them,” answered the Queen, keenly enjoying the child's undisguised pleasure.
Albert, who preferred that everything should be done decently and in order, placed a chair for Marie-Celeste on the other side of the Queen's little table, and then seated himself on the gilded sofa beside Miss Belmore, in such a comfortable, snuggling-up way that Miss Belmore had to put one arm right round him and give him a sound little kiss by way of punishment, which Albert was courteous enough not to resent, notwithstanding he considered that sort of treatment somewhat humiliating for a boy of four.
“Now tome, please, Marie-Celeste,” he pleaded; “let's hear about de tings before we look at dem and Marie-Celeste, feeling that they were all waiting for her, reluctantly did as she was bid, and dropped into the chair Albert had placed for her.