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Source global Wall Street Journal     time 2022-01-14 22:00:17
Typefacelarge in Small
It was Harry Esmond’s lot to see one of the visits which the old Lady of Sark paid to the Lady of Castlewood Hall: whither she came in state with six chestnut horses and blue ribbons, a page on each carriage step, a gentleman of the horse, and armed servants riding before and behind her. And, but that it was unpleasant to see Lady Castlewood’s face, it was amusing to watch the behavior of the two enemies: the frigid patience of the younger lady, and the unconquerable good-humor of the elder — who would see no offence whatever her rival intended, and who never ceased to smile and to laugh, and to coax the children, and to pay compliments to every man, woman, child, nay dog, or chair and table, in Castlewood, so bent was she upon admiring everything there. She lauded the children, and wished as indeed she well might — that her own family had been brought up as well as those cherubs. She had never seen such a complexion as dear Beatrix’s — though to be sure she had a right to it from father and mother — Lady Castlewood’s was indeed a wonder of freshness, and Lady Sark sighed to think she had not been born a fair woman; and remarking Harry Esmond, with a fascinating superannuated smile, she complimented him on his wit, which she said she could see from his eyes and forehead; and vowed that she would never have HIM at Sark until her daughter were out of the way.

If it amuses thee,” says Esmond in French, that your sister should be exchanging of kisses with a stranger, I fear poor Beatrix will give thee plenty of sport.”— Esmond darkly thought, how Hamilton, Ashburnham, had before been masters of those roses that the young Prince’s lips were now feeding on. He sickened at that notion. Her cheek was desecrated, her beauty tarnished; shame and honor stood between it and him. The love was dead within him; had she a crown to bring him with her love, he felt that both would degrade him.

Eh bien, Vicomte!” says the young Prince, who was a boy, and a French boy, il ne nous reste qu’une chose a faire:” he placed his sword upon the table, and the fingers of his two hands upon his breast:—We have one more thing to do,” says he; you do not divine it?” He stretched out his arms:—Embrassons nous!”

My lord!” cries out Colonel Esmond. What do you mean, dear lady?”

At least, ever since he had learned that secret from his poor patron on his dying bed, actually as he was standing beside it, he had felt an independency which he had never known before, and which since did not desert him. So he called his old aunt Marchioness, but with an air as if he was the Marquis of Esmond who so addressed her.

Faith, ask Dick himself,” cried Captain Westbury.

Mr. Holt, qui pensait a tout,” says Blaise, gets off his horse, examines the pockets of the dead officer for papers, gives his money to us two, and says, ‘The wine is drawn, M. le Marquis,’— why did he say Marquis to M. le Vicomte?—‘we must drink it.’

I am no lady,” says she; I am Rachel Esmond, Francis Esmond’s widow, my lord. I cannot bear that title. Would we never had taken it from him who has it now. But we did all in our power, Henry: we did all in our power; and my lord and I— that is —”


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