Sport Royal, and Other Stories. Hope Anthony
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When I went to claim my audience, the prince was not visible, nor Dumergue either, and I was at once received by the princess alone. She was looking smaller, and more simple and helpless than ever. I also thought her looking prettier, and I enjoyed immensely the pious, severe, forgiving little rebuke which she administered to me. I humbly craved pardon, and had no difficulty in obtaining it. Indeed, she became very gracious.
“You must come to Glottenberg,” she said, “in a few months’ time.”
“To obey Your Royal Highness’ commands will be a delightful duty,” said I, bowing.
She rose and stood by the fire, “toying” (as the novelists say) with her fan.
“You seem to be an obliging man, Mr. Jason,” she said. “You were ready to oblige Mme. Vooght.”
I made a gesture of half-serious protest.
“I wonder,” she continued, “if you would do me a little service.”
“I shall be most honored if I may hope to be able to,” said I. What did she want?
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