The games were neglected; the musicians played without being listened to; conversation ceased; and a strange curiosity pervaded the circle. “Does your majesty desire the lady to be admitted?” inquired the attendant. “Certainly; but, no, I will see her in the ante-room.” So saying, he left the apartment. Alice had sat some moments on one of the sofas we have mentioned, when a person entered, whose appearance caused her heart to beat rapidly, as if conscious that he was the individual with whom she sought an interview. He whom she beheld was apparently past thirty years of age. His complexion was dark, and he wore on his head a long, black periwig. His dress was of plain black velvet; and a cloak of the same material, hung carelessly over one shoulder. His features were strongly marked, but an air of dignified good-humor presided over his countenance. Alice, conscious of the deep die which hung upon the issue of this meeting, grew paler than even imprisonment and sorrow had left her, and her heart palpitated with such energy that it seemed as if it must burst its prison-house. She rose as the king approached, and fell upon her knees. As we have said, there was not the faintest shade of vital color to enliven her countenance, and the deep black garb in which she was clad, as accordant with her feelings and suitable to her distressed condition, increased the effect of this unearthly pallor. She was still beautiful, despite of care and time, and the angel-like expression of purity had deepened upon her features. Charles, ever alive to the charms of her sex, paused, much struck, at the interesting picture she presented. Advancing, after he had gazed on her for an instant, he bade her rise and be seated. It was dangerous for the king to behold beauty in the pomp of all her power, with every look bent upon conquest—more dangerous to see her in the moment of unconscious ease and simplicity, yielding herself to the graceful whim of the instant, and as willing to be pleased as desirous of pleasing. But he was prone to be affected far differently by gazing on beauty in sorrow: for his feelings were as keenly alive at times to impressions of genuine kindness and generous sympathy, as they were to the lighter emotions of the heart. Her glance was one rather of uncertainty and hesitation, than of bashfulness or timidity, as she still knelt and said, “I behold his majesty, the king of England, I presume?” “It is Charles Stuart, madam, who requests you again to seat yourself,” said the king. “The posture I employ is the most fitting for one who comes to ask a boon such as I have to solicit. I am the daughter and wife of certain of thy unhappy father’s enemies.” The king’s countenance instantly changed. “Ah,” said he, “her whose release I have recently granted.” “The same,” replied Alice, “and I come now on behalf of my husband and father, to beg you to extend your clemency to them.”