The Queen started up, and went to another part of the room, as if in search of something, but soon came back again: “He wants to see you and you are _here?_” “Before I received the letter of my father, I had promised to that _Unknown_ of whom I have been speaking, that nothing should detain me from travelling to Fr**ce, and imploring your assistance in behalf of my unhappy country.” “Poor father!” said the Queen, absorbed in melancholy, “how anxiously will he have expected the arrival of his son--I fancy I see the dying Marquis, how he extends his arms in vain to receive the child of his love--” “Does your Majesty know my father?” I enquired hastily. She gazed at me. “If I know him?---no!---yes---I saw him several times when at the court of my father---But why do you ask this question?”---Without giving me time to reply, she resumed, “Make haste! make haste, return to your native country; perhaps he is yet alive---the sight of you will animate him with new strength, he will recover in your arms, and perhaps be restored to health!” The last words she pronounced with a visible joyful emotion. “Shall I leave your Majesty,” I replied “without having my prayer granted? Is my unhappy country to expect no assistance from a Queen whose sentiments are so sublime? Is the picture of the best of women to be to me a lasting mark of her favour and displeasure?” She seemed to meditate, “It is true,” she said at length, “we have entirely wandered from your concerns. Did you not tell me that you are haunted every where by an apparition? I too have seen an apparition some time ago. It was the ghost of my departed father, who, at midnight drew the curtains of my bed, and said ‘I am very wretched my daughter! neither prayers nor masses will give me relief, while Por****l which we have usurped shall be submitted to the Sp***sh sceptre. O! my daughter, if the least spark of filial love is left in thy bosom, if thou wilt relieve me from unspeakable torments, then make use of all thy interest at this court, in order to support the endeavours of those who, at present, are secretly occupied to deliver Por****l from her oppressors. A noble youth will arrive in a few days and implore thy assistance. He is sent from Heaven; grant his prayer. He has a mole on his left breast, which will be to thee a token of his mission.” I started up. “That youth stands before your Majesty,” I exclaimed, uncovering my breast, “behold here the mole. O! relieve the suffering spirit of your father, relieve my country!” She seemed to be in a trance, encircling me with her arms, and straining me to her bosom. “Thy prayer is granted!” she said in a faint accent.---No sooner had the last syllable escaped her lips, when the sound of a little bell was heard in the adjoining apartment. She disengaged herself from my neck and started back, “Gracious heaven!---” she exclaimed, pale and trembling, “the King is returned. Begone! for God’s sake begone!”