“Not if I can prevent it,” thought Philip.
A suspicion in regard to the abbess, which the Prince had begun to entertain, being confirmed, he begged a word with her in private, and on her ready assent, led her into the deep recess of a bay-window.
Entirely changing his manner towards her, he then said, “I know not how to account for it, holy mother, but while talking to you I could almost imagine myself engaged in converse with her Majesty.”
“A strange supposition,” observed the abbess, in a blander tone than before.
“It is the highest compliment I could pay you,” pursued Philip. “That you should resemble so admirable a sovereign is the best proof of your merit.”
“I am much flattered by your Highness’s good opinion,” returned the abbess, still more blandly; “but how can you tell that I am like the Queen, since you have never beheld her Majesty?”
“I can perfectly judge by the many descriptions given me of her,” said the Prince. “In disposition I am sure you are exactly like her. Remove your hood, I pray you, that I may see whether the resemblance extends to feature.”
“I cannot comply with your Highness’s request, as I have a vow which prohibits me from disclosing my countenance to any of your sex,” she replied; “but I will own that I am like the Queen.”
“I was quite sure of it,” said Philip. “Permit me for a moment to address you as her Majesty.”
“’Tis a strange whim,” replied the abbess, complacently, “and I ought not to consent to it. But your Highness is singularly persuasive. I am not without curiosity to know what you would say to the Queen.”