“This is an unlucky discovery,” thought Xit. “I had better have left my parentage alone. The son of a groom of the pantry and a scullion. What a degrading conjunction! However, I will make the most of it, and not let them have the laugh against me. I shall assume my father’s name,” he added aloud—“Sir Narcissus Le Grand—and a good, well-sounding title it is, as need be desired.”
“It is to be hoped all will have forgotten the former bearer of it,” laughed Og.
“I care not who remembers it,” replied Xit; “the name bespeaks noble descent. Call me in future Narcissus Le Grand. The title fits me exactly,—Narcissus expressing my personal accomplishments—Le Grand my majesty. For the present, you may put ‘master’ to my name. You will shortly have to use a more honourable style of address. Farewell, sirs.”
And thrusting the piece of flannel into his doublet, he strutted to the door.
“Farewell, sweet Master Narcissus,” cried Og.
“Farewell, Leatherbarrow,” added Gog.
“Le Grand,” corrected Xit, halting, with a dignified air; “Le Grand, henceforth, is my name.” And he marched off with his head so erect that, unfortunately missing his footing, he tumbled down the staircase. Picking himself up before the giants, whose laughter enraged him, could reach him, he darted off, and did not return till a late hour, when they had retired to rest.
Two days after this discovery,—the queen being then at the Tower,—as he was pacing the grand gallery of the palace, according to custom, an usher tapped him on the shoulder, and desired him to follow him. With a throbbing heart Xit obeyed, and, putting all the dignity he could command into his deportment, entered the presence-chamber. On that very morning, as good luck would have it, his tailor had brought him his new habiliments; and arrayed in a purple velvet mantle lined with carnation-coloured silk, a crimson doublet slashed with white, orange-tawny hose, yellow buskins fringed with gold, and a green velvet cap, decorated with a plume of ostrich feathers, and looped with a diamond aigrette, he cut, in his own opinion, no despicable figure.
If the dwarf had entertained any doubts as to why he was summoned they would have been dispersed at once, as he advanced, by observing that the three giants stood at a little distance from the queen, and that she was attended only by a few dames of honour, her female jester, and the vice-chamberlain, Sir John Gage, who held a crimson velvet cushion, on which was laid a richly-ornamented sword. A smile crossed the queen’s countenance as Xit drew nigh, and an irrepressible titter spread among the dames of honour. Arrived within a few yards of the throne, the mannikin prostrated himself as gracefully as he could. But he was destined to mishaps. And in this the most important moment of his life, his sword, which was of extraordinary length, got between his legs, and he was compelled to remove it before his knee would touch the ground.
“We have not forgotten our promise—rash though it was,” observed Mary, “and have summoned thy comrades to be witness to the distinction we are about to confer upon thee. In the heat of the siege, we promised that whoso would bring us Bret, alive or dead, should have his request, be it what it might. Thou wert his captor, and thou askest—”