At her call they both came forward, the eldest, the Duc de
Chartres, who might have been sixteen years of age, laying down a violin
on which he had been playing softly, and the younger, Monsieur de
Beaujolais, who could not have been over thirteen, closing the book he
had been reading.
"Mes fils," says the Duchess, softly, and smiling at Mr. Morris and
Calvert with a sort of melancholy pride shining in her dark eyes. In
truth, the young princes were good to look at, especially the little
Monsieur de Beaujolais, who had a most animated and pleasing
countenance. As they stood one on each side of their mother they made a
pretty group. Perhaps 'twas the remembrance of that picture in after
years which warmed Mr. Morris's heart to the exile in distress over the
seas and made him a generous friend despite the royal ingratitude.
"So she has saved something out of the wreck of her life," thought Mr.
Calvert, pityingly, looking at the two youths. "'Tis doubly fortunate
that they in nowise resemble their ignoble father," and he thought with
disgust of that dissolute nobleman of whom he had heard so much.
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