“Jennings tells below stairs that he says things it’s queer for a lord to say. Jennings is a sharp young snip and likes to pick up things to repeat. He believes that his lordship’s idea is that there’s a time coming when the high ones will lose their places and thrones and kings will be done away with. I wouldn’t like to go that far myself,” said Dowson, gravely, “but I must say that there’s not that serious respect paid to Royalty that there was in my young days. My word! When Queen Victoria was in her prime, with all her young family around her,—their little Royal Highnesses that were princes in their Highland kilts and the princesses in their crinolines and hats with drooping ostrich feathers and broad satin streamers—the people just went wild when she went to a place to unveil anything!” “When the Empress Eugenie and the Prince Imperial appeared, it was the same thing,” said Mademoiselle, a trifle sadly. “One recalls it now as a dream passed away—the Champs Élysées in the afternoon sunlight—the imperial carriage and the glittering escort trotting gaily—the beautiful woman with the always beautiful costumes—her charming smile—the Emperor, with his waxed moustache and saturnine face! It meant so much and it went so quickly. One moment,” she made a little gesture, “and it is gone—forever! An Empire and all the splendour of it! Two centuries ago it could not have disappeared so quickly. But now the world is older. It does not need toys so much. A Republic is the people—and there are more people than kings.” “It’s things like that his lordship says, according to Jennings,” said Dowson. “Jennings is never quite sure he’s in earnest. He has a satirical way—And the company always laugh.” Mademoiselle had spoken thoughtfully and as if half to her inner self instead of to Dowson. She added something even more thoughtfully now. “The same kind of people laughed before the French Revolution,” she murmured. “I’m not scholar enough to know much about that—that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” Dowson remarked. “A long time ago,” said Mademoiselle. Dowson’s reply was quite free from tragic reminiscence. “Well, I must say, I like a respectable Royal Family myself,” she observed. “There’s something solid and comfortable about it—besides the coronations and weddings and procession with all the pictures in the _Illustrated London News_. Give me a nice, well-behaved Royal Family.” CHAPTER XVII