“History teems with examples of bold, bad, and ambitious men usurping power and decorating themselves with lofty titles,” continued Charles, addressing himself partly to Lady Hatfield and partly to the beautiful Lady Frances Ellingham: “but in the present instance we have a young Englishman, of generous soul, enlightened opinions, and even rigorous rectitude of conduct, raising himself from nothing as it were and acquiring the proudest titular distinctions. For what a glorious elevation was it from plain _Mr. Richard Markham_ to _His Royal Highness Field-Marshal the Prince of Montoni, Captain-General of the Castelcicalan Army, and Heir-Apparent to the Grand-Ducal Throne_!” Scarcely had Charles Hatfield enunciated these sounding titles in a tone which afforded full evidence of the enthusiasm that filled his soul as he thought of the splendid career of Richard Markham,[1] when far-off shouts of welcome and of joy suddenly reached the ears of the group on the balcony:--then those sounds came nearer and nearer, as the crowd took up the cries from the direction where they commenced;--and never was Royalty saluted with a more cordial greeting than that which now welcomed the hero of Castelcicala. “Long live the Prince of Montoni! God save Richard Markham!” were the words sent up by thousands and thousands of voices to the blue arch of heaven. In a short time a handsome carriage, drawn by four magnificent horses, came in sight of the spectators in the balcony; and nothing could now exceed the enthusiasm of Charles Hatfield, as he once more beheld the object of his heroic idolatry--that fine young Prince whom he had so often admired and envied when in the vast square of the ducal palace of Montoni his Royal Highness reviewed the garrison of the Castelcicalan capital. The Prince, who was accompanied in his carriage by two aides-de-camp, wore the uniform of his high military rank: his breast was covered with Orders; and in his hand he carried his plumed hat, which he had removed from his brow through respect to the generous British public from whom he now received so enthusiastic a welcome. His Royal Highness was in the prime and glory of his manhood. He was thirty years of age: his dark hair, which he wore rather long and which curled naturally, enclosed a forehead that appeared to be the seat of genius of the highest order;--and his fine black eyes were bright with the fire of intelligence and the animation of complete happiness. His magnificent uniform set off his symmetrical and graceful figure to its fullest advantage; and he acknowledged with affability and modest condescension the demonstrations of joy and welcome which marked his progress.