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Little Queen of Hearts

<h2> CHAPTER XIII.—MADAME LA GRANDE REINE. </h2> <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/9127.jpg" alt="9127 " width-obs="100%" /> <ANTIMG src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </div> They had spent a most interesting hour at the Royal Mews, and, rare good fortune, the best was yet to come. They means Mr. Harris and Marie-Celeste and Albert, and the Royal Mews—since to the average little American the words doubtless are wholly unintelligible—means the royal stables. Mr. Harris and Marie-Celeste had called by appointment in the phaeton lor Albert, and then leaving the ponies in the care of a groom at the entrance to the stable courtyard, in company with another groom they had visited the royal horses. The place as a whole was rather disappointing to our little party. Harold, who had been all through the stables of the Duke of Westminster at Eton Hall, had described something much finer than this—imposing buildings surrounding a courtyard paved with bevel-edged squares of stone, with not so much as a whisp of hay or straw to be seen anywhere, and in the centre a noble statue of a high-spirited horse, rearing and pulling hard at the bridle, held in the hand of a stalwart groom, who seems fully equal to the occasion. Here there was nothing of the sort, and yet these were the Queen's stables. Ah, well! these were old and the Duke's were new, and perhaps the royal family were trying to avoid extravagance, and that was of course very commendable. But what seemed lacking in elegance of appointment was made up in the number of horses; and happening to enter one of the courtyards just as three of the court carriages were about to be driven out of it, the children were intensely interested. Marie-Celeste opened her eyes wide for wonder at the novel sight of a coach and four, but with no reins anywhere about the harness, and not so much as the suggestion of a scat for the coachman. The mystery of how they were to be driven was solved in a moment, however, when a faultlessly equipped groom threw himself astride of one of the leaders, and the stablemen, standing at the bridles of the four-in-hand, at one and the same moment let go their hold, and sprang quickly out of the way. It was very inspiring and exciting to see the three coaches, that were to convey some royal guests to the depot, leave the courtyard one after the other, the horses in each case prancing in wildest fashion and perfectly free, apparently, with the exception of the one mounted leader, to do any outlandish thing that they chose. “I don't see that there's anything at all to keep them from running away,” pondered Marie-Celeste gravely, “or how they ever manage them at all.” “But dey do,” said well-informed Albert; “I've seen dem often. Dat cuttin' up is jus' for fun at de start. Dey're trained to behave jus' of dere own selves without any driver, and when dey get out on de road dey always do behave;” and then in the moment's pause that followed, Marie-Celeste, remembering certain recent performances of her own, wondered if her father wished that a certain little girl, of whom he had some knowledge, more closely resembled these royal ponies, who, once trained to behave, according to Albert, never dreamed of taking the bit in their teeth or of kicking over the traces. But the best that was yet to come was something of a highly exclusive and highly privileged order—something in which even Mr. Harris could have no part. From the moment that Albert had climbed into the phaeton at his own door he had held a small square envelope firmly in one hand. Mr. Harris had advised him to put it in his pocket or to consign it to him for safer keeping but to no avail. Albert considered the grip of his own right hand the safest place by far for the valuable little square of cardboard, and which was nothing else than the open sesame to the Queen's own garden, called the East Terrace, and to which the general public only occasionally were admitted. Exception, in this instance, had been made for Marie-Celeste and Albert. It had all been managed in some way by Albert's father, Canon Allyn, apropos of Albert's having repeated a remark of Marie-Celeste's, “that she should be happy as a queen herself if just once she could be allowed to walk in that garden.” Whether the powers that rule the entrance to the same came to the conclusion that to a little girl of twelve and a little boy of four the term of general public could not honestly be applied, or whether all rules of procedure and precedence were magnanimously waived in their favor, certain it is that the little card in question bore the incredible inscription: “Admit Master Albert Allyn and his little friend, Miss Marie-Celeste Harris, to the East Terrace between the hours of twelve and three on Thursday. By order of —————” And this was Thursday, and by Mr. Harris's watch, long ago carefully adjusted to English time, it was precisely five minutes to twelve. The skies were blue above them and a delightful little breeze was blowing out of the west; so that everything was just as it should be when two pairs of eager little feet were to be allowed to tread the paths of the Queen's own garden. And such a garden as it proved! with its fountains and statues and vases, and the orangery on one side, and on the other three sides a beautiful sloping lawn, ascending from the level of the garden to the gray stonewall at the outer edge of the terrace; and to think that here they were actually walking about in this beautiful garden, instead of merely peering through the fretwork of the iron gate, as some other little children with envious eyes were doing that very moment. Marie-Celeste was so impressed with the greatness of the privilege accorded them, that for the first five minutes or so she kept Albert's hand tight in her own, and spoke never a word save a whispered “yes” or “no” to Albert's questions. But to Albert, who had been born beneath the castle walls, it must be confessed royalty was less awe-inspiring, and to walk about hand in hand in that stately fashion and talk in suppressed whispers was not his idea of the way to enjoy the Queen's garden. <div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/0129.jpg" alt="0129 " width-obs="100%" /> </div> <h5> <ANTIMG src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </h5> Finally he resolved to take matters into his own hands by suddenly slipping away from Marie-Celeste's grasp; and then drawing off a little, and folding both hands behind his back, as though neither of them were to be longer at anybody's disposal, he said aggressively: “And—and now what are you afraid of, Marie-Celeste? Do you sink somebody's goin' to soot you from de top of one of de towers if you speak out loud?” “Why no, of course not,” with a little nervous laugh; “really, I didn't know I was just whispering; but it seems such a wonderful place to me, as much for what has happened here as for what is here now.” Albert looked at Marie-Celeste a little whimsically, and then said dryly: “Well, I don' know much about what's happened here, and I s'ouldn't sink jus' an American little girl would know so very much eider.” “Perhaps not,” said Marie-Celeste, half angry at Albert's insinuation; “but 's'ouldn't sink' or no, I could tell you a good deal if I chose to about one little queen who lived here—” “Oh, yes, I remember. You did promise to tell me 'bout her some day. Right here, where she used to live, would be a good place, Marie-Celeste.” “Yes, it would,” but in a tone as though nothing was farther from her thought than the telling of it. She would show this presuming little Albert that “jus' American little girls” were not to be so easily conciliated. Albert looked crestfallen, but hoped still to win by strategy. “She was a little French girl, wasn't she?” he asked, quite casually. “Yes, she was.” “Do you s'pose she used to play in this garden?” “I'm sure I don't know,” with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders. “Her name was Isabel, wasn't it?” “Yes, her name was Isabel.” “And she was only nine when she was a queen.” “Only nine.” Albert gave Marie-Celeste a look which said as plainly as words: “That jus' American little girls could be awful mean,” and evidently deciding it would be best to leave that kind of a girl to herself, turned on his heel and walked straight off toward the castle with a consequential air, and as though bent on reporting such unseemly conduct to Her Majesty in person. Marie-Celeste looked after him a moment with a most amused smile, and then growing to feel more at home amid royal surroundings, turned to investigate the little miniature elephants that flank the steps leading down from the eastern terrace. Then she wandered on, making a partial circuit of the garden, stopping here and there to gaze at some statue that struck her fancy or to touch with reverend hand the rich carving of the vases, and finally bringing up at the fountain in the centre. Meantime, what had not that audacious Albert ventured! The rapid and indignant pace at which he had sought to put as much space as possible between the offending Marie-Celeste and himself had brought him in a trice to the foot of the double flight of steps that ascend from the garden to the terrace. And what more natural, when you find yourself at the foot of a flight of steps, than to walk up them, no matter if the place does chance to be Windsor Castle; and then if at the top you find an open door confronting you, what more natural than to walk in, particularly if there happens to be no one to say you nay, and you have half a mind, besides, to seek an audience of the Queen, and report the ungracious conduct of an ungracious little American, who has been unworthily permitted to tread the paths of the royal garden. A few moments later he was bounding down the stone stairway, flying toward Marie-Celeste with the breathless announcement: “She wants us to come in.” “Who?” screamed Marie-Celeste, half stiff with fright; “not the Queen?” “No,” called Albert, who was not to be delayed by explanations, and was already half-way back to the steps again; “the Queen's mother.” “The Queen's mother!” thought Marie-Celeste; “she must be very old.” But this was time for action rather than thought. “Please wait for me, Albert;” for Albert had scaled the stairs, and in another second would be out of sight; and for a wonder, Albert waited—touched, perhaps, by the entreaty in her voice, and perceptibly enjoying the turn of affairs that left him master of the situation. “Did the Queen's mother come out and ask you to come in?” whispered Marie-Celeste, detaining Albert by main force, while she straightened his necktie and gave his hopelessly frowsy curls a rearranging touch. “No, I went in and asked her to tome out; nes I did, really,” in refutation of the astonished incredulity on Marie-Celeste's face. “The door was open, an' I jus' walked in, an' I dess dey sought I was jus' a little prince or somethin', cause nobody said anythin' to me till I tame to the room where de Queen's mother was; an' I asked her wouldn't she tome out in de garden an' see you; an' she said no, she did not feel able to walk very much, but for me to go an' bring my little friend in.” And nothing could, by any possibility, have been more patronizing than the tone in which Albert uttered the words “my little friend.” And this was all the light that was ever thrown on Albert's unsolicited entree into Windsor Castle. If he met with a rebuff from any quarter or had to push his way in the face of any difficulties, he has never owned up to them. Be that as it may, a very sweet-faced lady met them at the door as they entered, and saying reassuringly, “Come this way, children,” led them through a corridor resplendent with statues and portraits, and thence by a wide folding-door into a large room, with windows looking out over the Long Walk and away to the grand old Windsor Forest. Albert, who had already become familiar with the appointments of this apartment, stepped at once to the table, near which an elderly lady was sitting, and laying his sailor-hat, nothing loath, atop of a miniature of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, announced cavalierly, “And—and now, this is my little American friend, Marie-Celeste.” “How do you do, dear?” said the lady, extending her hand, which Marie-Celeste, her cheeks aflame with the unexpected abruptness of Albert's introduction, took in hers, in a pretty deferential sort of way, as though fully conscious of the dignity of her surroundings. Albert, on the other hand, apparently as much at home in the Queen's private sitting-room as anywhere else in the world, had worked himself way back into a deep-seated, gilded armchair, so that his dusty little feet stuck straight out into the air before him. Meanwhile, the sweet-faced lady had drawn a little tête-a-tète sofa nearer the table, and invited Marie-Celeste to take a seat beside her, and then there followed a few general remarks as to the warmth of the weather and the beauty of the garden, etc., while Marie-Celeste gazed in unconcealed admiration at everything about her. “It is very beautiful,” she said in the first pause of the conversation, “to be allowed to see the inside of this part of the castle, but I am afraid it was very rude in Albert to walk right in the way he did.” “Very rude?” Indeed! Albert's eyes flashed, and there is no telling what rejoinder he might have made but that the sweet-faced lady gave him no opportunity. “Oh, that's all right,” she said cordially; “Albert told us he was Canon Allyn's little boy, and that made us very glad to see him, for the Queen has a very high regard for Canon Allyn; and then when he told us he thought you would like to come in too, the Queen sent for you.” “That was very kind of the Queen,” said Marie-Celeste gratefully, while Albert looked mystified, for he was not at all aware of the Queen's having had any part in the transaction; but he thought it was a good time to gain a little useful information. “I suppose de Queen is always very busy,” he said, addressing the young lady, “and never has any time jus'—jus' to sit around like dis?” The young lady hesitated a moment before she answered, and glanced toward the Queen, for the elderly lady was none other, if you please, than Victoria herself, though it never entered the children's heads for one moment to suspect it. A Queen in black silk and a lace cap! Why, the thing was simply incredible. Albert had not passed the statue on Castle Hill almost every day since he learned to walk for nothing. <div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/0135.jpg" alt="0135 " width-obs="100%" /> </div> <h5> <ANTIMG src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </h5> He guessed he knew how a queen ought to look in her robes of velvet and ermine, and with characteristic self-sufficiency had at once settled it in his venturesome little mind that this was the Queen's mother; and Marie-Celeste, presuming he knew whereof he spoke, simply took him at his word. And so both the children almost at once betraying their utter unconsciousness of the Queen's presence, the Queen and her companion were naturally greatly amused, and by an interchange of glances decided not to enlighten their unsuspecting little visitors. “Her Majesty,” said Miss Belmore, the lady-in-waiting, after hesitating a moment, not knowing how to answer, “has of course many things to occupy her mind, but still she often spends a quiet hour or so in this very room.” “Oh, does she?” for this fact at once added a new lustre to everything for Marie-Celeste; “where does she generally sit?” “Generally where I am sitting,” answered the Queen. “And—and I know jus' how she looks sitting dere,” said Albert; “she has a beautiful crown on her head and a long kind of veil coming down from de crown, and a kind of gold stick in her hand dat papa says is called a—a—” “Sceptre,” suggested Marie-Celeste, coming to the rescue; “and then she wears”—for Marie-Celeste had studied the statue too—“a beautiful broad ribbon coming from one shoulder, crosswise this way to her belt, doesn't she?” “Yes, sometimes,” said Miss Belmore. “And on it she wears the badge of the Order of the Garter, doesn't she?” “Yes, that is right, too; but what do two little people like you know about the Order of the Garter?” “We know all dere is,” said Albert grandly; “we had a Knight-of-the-Garter day las' week;” and then recalling the matter of the foolish little garter, his face grew crimson, and he begged Marie-Celeste not to tell. “What do you mean by a Knight-of-the-Garter day?” said the Queen, smiling at Albert's embarrassment and keenly enjoying the novelty of the situation. “Why, it was a day,” Marie-Celeste explained, “when we came to the castle here and went into the different rooms and then into St. George's Chapel, and Harold Harris, my cousin, who lives here, and who has read up a great deal about the knights, told us all he knew about them. But there is one thing,” added Marie-Celeste, changing the subject, because unwilling that so important an occasion should be to any extent devoted to any mere narrating of their own childish doings, “I would very much like to know, and that is, if Victoria is ever called Madame La Grande Reine?” “Why no, my dear, I don't know that she is,” said Her Majesty; “but what a little French woman you seem to be.” At this Albert rudely clapped one little hand over his mouth, as though to keep from laughing outright. Marie-Celeste a little French woman! Why he didn't believe she knew more than a dozen French words to her name. “But why do you ask if she is ever called by that title?” continued the Queen. “Oh, because on the steamer coming over I learned all about the Queen whom they used to call Madame La Petite Reine.” “What are you saying, Marie-Celeste?” said Albert impetuously; “I don't understan' you at all;” for not for one single moment was this conversation in the Queen's own sitting-room to rise above the level of his comprehension, if it lay in his power to prevent it. “I am talking about the little French Queen, Isabel.” “Oh!” greatly relieved that the matter could be so easily explained; and then he added, turning beseechingly to Her Majesty, “Won't you please make her tell it? Se always says se knows a great deal about her, but se never tells what se knows.” It was Marie-Celeste's turn to color up now, and she looked at Albert, considering for a moment in what way she should proceed to annihilate him, when Her Majesty happily put to rout all such revengeful intentions. “I should love to talk with you about the little Isabel,” she said, “for I know all about her too, and there are some things here in the castle that used to belong to her that I should be glad to have you see. It seems to me you two little people will have to remain to luncheon, and afterward we will have a good talk about the little French Isabel.” “Oh, thank you,” said Marie-Celeste, “but I don't believe we can,” the idea of actually sitting down to the royal table being almost too overpowering. “Oh, nes we can, too,” said Albert, “if you sink the Queen won't mind.” “On the contrary,” said Her Majesty, with difficulty concealing her amusement, “I am confident she will be most glad to have you entertained at the castle; and now, Miss Belmore, will you summon Ainslee, that she may show our little friends through the private apartments?” Ainslee proved to be a motherly-looking, middle-aged woman with a bunch of keys hanging from her ample girdle. After she had received a word or two of direction from Miss Belmore, the children set off under her guidance, with unconcealed delight on their faces at the prospect of seeing with their own eyes these mysterious apartments, and with a deep-seated hope in each quick-beating heart that in all the full regalia of crown and sceptre and ermine they might somewhere encounter the marvellous Queen. Meantime, imagine the astonishment of the inmates of the Little Castle to have a finely mounted groom, in the royal livery of the big Castle, ride up to their door, and with that indescribable condescension inherent in even the most ordinary of grooms, hand in a communication, which on being opened imparted the rather astounding information “That Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen, having accidentally made the acquaintance of the little visitors to the East Terrace, had invited them to remain for luncheon at the Castle, and would see that they reached home safely under proper escort later in the afternoon.” The note also mentioned that similar word had been sent by special messenger to Canon Allyn. “Gad, but they're lucky!” said Harold: and then he sent for his pony and started off for a long gallop, hoping thereby to get the better of certain absurdly jealous feelings that would not down at his bidding. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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