ich you do is unworthy, monsieur; is inhospitable--is, is _lache_, yes
_lache_:" (he spoke rapidly in French, his rage carrying him away with
each phrase:) "I come to your house; I risk my life; I pass it in ennui; I
repose myself on your fidelity; I have no company but your lordship's
sermons or the conversations of that adorable young lady, and you take her
from me; and you, you rest! _Merci, monsieur!_ I shall thank you when I
have the means; I shall know to recompense a devotion a little
importunate, my lord--a little importunate. For a month past your airs of
protector have annoyed me beyond measure. You deign to offer me the crown,
and bid me take it on my knees like King John--eh! I know my history,
monsieur, and mock myself of frowning barons. I admire your mistress, and
you send her to a Bastile of the Province; I enter your house, and you
mistrust me. I will leave it, monsieur; from to-night I will leave it. I
have other friends whose loyalty will not be so ready to question mine. If
I have Garters to give away, 'tis to noblemen who are not so ready to
think evil. Bring me a coach and let me quit this place, or let the fair
Beatrix return to it. I will not have your hospitality at the expense of
the freedom of that fair creature."

This harangue was uttered with rapid gesticulations such as the French
use, and in the language of that nation. The prince striding up and down
the room; his face flushed, and his hands trembling with anger. He was
very thin and frail from repeated illness and a life of pleasure. Either
Castlewood or Esmond could have broke him across their knee, and in half a
minute's struggle put an end to him; and here he was insulting us both,
and scarce deigning to hide from the two, whose honour it most concerned,
the passion he felt for the young lady of our family. My Lord Castlewood
replied to the prince's tirade very nobly and simply.

"Sir," says he, "your royal highness is pleased to forget that others risk
their lives, and for your cause. Very few Englishmen, please God, would
dare to lay hands on your sacred person, though none would ever think of
respecting ours. Our family's lives are at your service, and everything we
have except our honour."

"Honour! bah, sir, who ever thought of hurting your honour?" says the
prince, with a peevish air.

"We implore your royal highness never to think of hurting it," says Lord
Castlewood, with a low bow. The night being warm, the windows were op