"Upon my word!" he exclaimed; "A little experience of the world has
given you what newspaper men call 'local colour.' The 'cold woman with
the face like a mask,' is the Queen!"
Pequita made a little grimace of scorn.
"And who is the leering boy?"
"Prince Rupert."
"The Crown Prince?"
"No. The Crown Prince is travelling abroad. He went away very
mysteriously,--no one knows where he has gone, or when he will come
back."
"I am not surprised!" said Pequita; "With such a father and mother, and
such impudent-looking brothers, no wonder he wanted to get away!"
Zouche had another fit of laughter. He had never seen the little girl
in such a temper. He tried to assume gravity.
"Pequita, you are naughty! The flatteries of the great world are
spoiling you!"
"Bah!" said Pequita, with a contemptuous wave of her small brown hands.
"The flatteries of the great world! To what do they lead? To
_that_!" and she made another eloquent sign towards the Royal
box;--"I would rather dance for you and Lotys, and Sergius Thord, and
Pasquin Leroy, than all the Kings of the world together! What I do here
is for my father's sake--_you_ know that!"
"I know!" and Zouche smoked on, and shook his wild head sentimentally,
--murmuring in a _sotto-voce_:
"What I do _here_, is for the need of gold,--
What I do _there_, is for sweet love's sake only;
Love, ever timid _there_, doth _here_ grow bold,--
And wins such triumph as but leaves me lonely!"
"Is that yours?" said Pequita with a sudden smile.
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