“‘Mum’ is delightful,” laughed Marie Antoinette.
“I was at me wit’s end wot course to lay this mornin’, an’ w’en as luck would hev it I run into Commodore Jones in the street, jist in from L’Orient—he never forgits a shipmate, ma’am, no matter how humble—an’ I ups an’ told him about Mr. Burnham. He fetched me to Dr. Franklin, an’ you knows the rest, Yer Ladyship.”
“I shall not forget you,” said the Queen, lifting a well-filled purse from the table and putting it in Bucknall’s hand. The old sailor was not without a streak of gallantry.
“It’s the hand wot gives it, lady,” he said, “wot makes me wally it more’n the gold pieces.”
“You will await Monsieur Burnham without the door,” she said, dismissing him graciously.
“Monsieur Burnham,” she began as we three were alone, “you are a thief after all. You have stolen the fairest jewel of my Court. I ought to be angry with you, but—I am not.”
“I thank Your Majesty.”
“You will be very good to this daughter of France in your own land?”
“Madame, I will cherish her as the King his crown. Nay,” I added quickly, “as I would cherish Your Majesty were I the King.”
“You pay me in pretty speeches.”