The Princess opened her firmly closed lips. “My dear Michael, if you are so happy as not to have noticed what every one in the Court knows and every one in the country has heard, it is certainly not for me to destroy your paradise.”
“It would make me unhappy, then? Something about my mother? Tant’ Ottilie, you cannot say that—that she has done anything wrong?”
“Far from it, my dear boy. At the worst it can only be called an amiable indiscretion. Oh no, there is nothing wrong—but I fear you will scarcely be charitable enough to say so when you are invited to receive Count Mortimer as——”
“As what? I insist on knowing.”
“My dear boy, you quite frighten me. As a stepfather, then, if you must be told.”
“My mother intends to put that upstart in my father’s place?”
“That she can scarcely do, but she intends to marry him.”
“She shall not do it. I will have him killed first.”
“Calm yourself, Michael.” The Princess was a little alarmed by the storm she had raised, and she drew the boy down upon the seat beside her, and laid her soft hand on his clenched fist. “You must make allowances for your mother,” she went on. “When she was left a widow, Count Mortimer occupied a high position in the Court. He made himself useful to her, and worked his way into her confidence. When those Tatarjé difficulties arose, he was able to make it appear that he had rendered her very important services. Your mother was young and impressionable, and very lonely. If she had had a father or brother at hand to advise her—if even I had known what was going on, she would have been held back from the rash step she took. But it so happened that she had no relations near her at the time, and she engaged herself privately to him.”
“And married him?”