After a short interval, the Duchess, in the plenitude of her glory at entertaining her dear Queen’s son, came up en grande tenue, leading the King by the hand, the Duke walking backwards in front, and his two sons each holding a big wax candle on either side.

’Here, Sire, is the chamber where the excellent Queen did me the honour to repose herself.’

The Duke swung open the door of the state bed-chamber.  There on the velvet-hung bed sat le gros Chevalier Anglais, whom she had herself installed there on Saturday.  Both his hands were held fast in those of a youth who lay beside him, deadly pale, and half undressed, with the little Ribaumont attending to a wound in his side, while her child was held in the arms of a very tall, bald-headed young man, who stood at the foot of the bed.  The whole group of interlopers looked perfectly glorified with happiness and delight.  Even the wounded youth, ghastly and suffering as he was, lay stroking the big Englishman’s hand with a languid, caressing air of content, almost like that of a dog who has found his master.  None of them were the least embarrassed, they evidently thought this a visit of inquiry after the patient; and while the Duchess stood confounded, and the Duke much inclined to laugh, Eustacie turned eagerly, exclaiming, ’Ah!  Madame, I am glad you are come.  May I beg Mademoiselle Perrot for some of your cooling mallow salve.  Riding has sadly inflamed the wound.’

‘Riding—­with such a wound!  Are we all crazed?’ said Madame la Duchesse, absolutely bewildered out of her dignified equanimity:  and her son, seeing her for once at a loss, came to her rescue.  ’His Grace will condescend to the Andromeda Chamber, Madame.  He kindly gave up his bed to our young friend last night, when there was less choice than you can give him.’

They all moved off again; and, before Eustacie was ready for the mallows, Madame de Quinet, for whom the very name of a wound had an attraction, returned with two hand-maidens bearing bandages and medicaments, having by this time come to the perception that the wounded youth was the son of the big Englishman who had arrived with young Mericour in search of her little protegee, and that the tall man was the husband so long supposed to be dead.  She was curious to see her pupil’s surgery, of which she highly approved, though she had no words to express her indignation at the folly of traveling so soon.  Indeed, nothing but the passiveness of fatigue could have made her despotism endurable to Philip; but he cared for nothing so long as he could see his father’s face, and hear his voice—­the full tones that his ear had yearned for among the sharp expression of the French accent—­and Sir Marmaduke seemed to find the same perfect satisfaction in the sight of him; indeed, all were so rejoiced to be together, that they scarcely exerted themselves to ask questions.  When Berenger would have made some explanation, Sir Marmaduke only said, ’Tell me not yet, my dear boy.  I see it is all right, and my head will hold no more yet but that I have you and the lad again!  Thank God for it!  Never mind how.’