“It is old Henshaw,” said Ramorny, “working up the stream. How, skipper!”
The boatman answered the hail, and drew up alongside of the Prince’s barge.
“Oh, ho! my old friend!” said the Prince, recognising the figure as well as the appointments of the French glee woman, Louise. “I think I owe thee something for being the means of thy having a fright, at least, upon St. Valentine’s Day. Into this boat with thee, lute, puppy dog, scrip and all; I will prefer thee to a lady’s service who shall feed thy very cur on capons and canary.”
“I trust your Highness will consider—” said Ramorny.
“I will consider nothing but my pleasure, John. Pray, do thou be so complying as to consider it also.”
“Is it indeed to a lady’s service you would promote me?” said the glee maiden. “And where does she dwell?”
“At Falkland,” answered the Prince.
“Oh, I have heard of that great lady!” said Louise; “and will you indeed prefer me to your right royal consort’s service?”
“I will, by my honour—whenever I receive her as such. Mark that reservation, John,” said he aside to Ramorny.
The persons who were in the boat caught up the tidings, and, concluding a reconciliation was about to take place betwixt the royal couple, exhorted Louise to profit by her good fortune, and add herself to the Duchess of Rothsay’s train. Several offered her some acknowledgment for the exercise of her talents.