At length it was presented, and the result was exactly what the writer had anticipated. The Schwellenberg stormed, of course: to resign was to return to nothingness; to forfeit the protection of the Court was to become an outcast; to lose the beatific vision of the Sovereign and his consort was hardly less than to be excluded from heaven. The Queen thought the memorial very modest and proper, but was surprised at its contents. Indomitable herself, she could not understand how anyone else could suffer from more than passing illness. She therefore proposed that her sick attendant should have six weeks’ leave of absence, which, with change of air and scene, and the society of her family, the Locks and the Cambridges, would ensure a perfect cure. This proposal was duly communicated to Dr. Burney. The good man’s answer arrived by return of post. With much gratitude for the royal goodness, he declared, on medical authority, that nothing short of an absolute retirement gave any prospect of recovery. “A scene almost horrible ensued,” says Miss Burney, “when I told Cerbera the offer was declined. She was too much enraged for disguise, and uttered the most furious expressions of indignant contempt at our proceedings. I am sure she would gladly have confined us both in the Bastille, had England such a misery, as a fit place to bring us to ourselves, from a daring so outrageous against imperial wishes.” The Queen herself betrayed a blank disappointment at Dr. Burney’s inflexibility, but neither exhibited displeasure nor raised any further obstacle. Yet the prisoner’s liberation was still at a distance. In January, 1791, she was prostrated by an attack of some acute illness which lasted through the two following months. On returning to her duty, she found that search was being made for a suitable person to succeed her. But the selection proved difficult, and her Majesty, of course, could not be pressed. It was at length arranged that Miss Burney should be set free soon after the celebration of the King’s birthday in June. This matter settled, her position grew easier. Her colleague not only laid aside asperity of manner, but became even ‘invariable in kindness.’ And Fanny now began to do the old lady more justice than she had ever done before. She acknowledged, in short, that Cerbera’s bark was worse than her bite; that though selfish, harsh, and overbearing, she was not unfriendly; that she was even extremely fond of her junior’s society, when the latter could force herself to appear gay and chatty. On such occasions the morose German would melt, and tell the Queen: ‘The Bernar bin reely agribble.’ ‘Mrs. Schwellenberg, too,’ adds the Diary, ‘with all her faults, is heart and soul devoted to her royal mistress, with the truest faith and loyalty.’ As for this mistress, she treated her retiring servant with all her former confidence, clouded only by a visible, though unavowed, regret at the prospect of their separation.