She led me to the west end of the room, sat down on the cushioned bench,
and drew in her skirts that I might sit close beside her.
"I want to tell you about the missive, Sir Karl," she whispered,
laughing and shrugging her shoulders in great glee. "Mother returned it
to the box, and when I left you I hurried back and haunted the room,
fearing that some one might meddle with the parchment. Near the hour of
six o'clock father entered. I was sitting on the divan, and he sat down
in his great chair, of course taking no notice of me--I am too
insignificant for so great a person to notice, except when he is
compelled to do so. I was joyful in my heart, but I conjured up all my
troubles that I might make myself weep. I feared to show any change in
myself, so I sobbed aloud now and then, and soon father turned angrily
toward me. 'Are you still there?' he asked. 'Yes, father,' I answered,
as if trying to stifle my sobs. 'Are you really going to send that cruel
letter to King Louis?'"
"Cruel, indeed," I interrupted.
"Ah, yes! Well, father made no reply, and I went over to him and began
to plead. I should have wanted to cut my tongue out had I succeeded, but
I had little fear. Father is not easily touched by another's suffering,
and my tears only hardened his heart. Well, of course, he repulsed me;
and soon a page announced Byron the herald and the Bishop of Cambrai.
Father took the packet from the iron box, and put his fingers in the
pouch, as if he were going to take out the letter.
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