Stray Pearls | Page 4

AND THE DRAGON (By Annora)
CHAPTER XXIII
. THE LION AND THE MOUSE
CHAPTER XXIV
. FAMILY HONOUR
CHAPTER XXV
. THE HAGUE
CHAPTER XXVI

. HUNKERSLUST
CHAPTER XXVII
. THE EXPEDIENT (Annora's Narrative)
CHAPTER XXVIII
. THE BOEUF GRAS (Annora's Narrative)
CHAPTER XXIX
. MADAME'S OPPORTUNITY (Annora's Narrative)
CHAPTER XXX
. THE NEW MAID OF ORLEAN (Margaret's Narrative)
CHAPTER XXXI
. PORTE ST. ANTOINE (Margaret's Narrative)
CHAPTER XXXII
. ESCAPE (Annora's Narrative)
CHAPTER XXXIII
. BRIDAL PEARLS
CHAPTER XXXIV
. ANNORA'S HOME

STRAY PEARLS
MEMOIRS OF MARGARET DE RIBAUMONT
VISCOUNTESS OF BELLAISE

CHAPTER I
.
WHITEHALL BEFORE THE COBWEBS.

I have long promised you, my dear grandchildren, to arrange my
recollections of the eventful years that even your father can hardly
remember. I shall be glad thus to draw closer the bonds between
ourselves and the English kindred, whom I love so heartily, though I
may never hope to see them in this world, far less the dear old home
where I grew up.
For, as perhaps you have forgotten, I am an English woman by birth,
having first seen the light at Walwyn House, in Dorsetshire. One

brother had preceded me--my dear Eustace--and another brother,
Berenger, and my little sister, Annora, followed me.
Our family had property both in England and in Picardy, and it was
while attending to some business connected with the French estate that
my father had fallen in love with a beautiful young widow, Madame la
Baronne de Solivet (nee Cheverny), and had brought her home, in spite
of the opposition of her relations. I cannot tell whether she were
warmly welcomed at Walwyn Court by any one but the dear beautiful
grandmother, a Frenchwoman herself, who was delighted again to hear
her mother tongue, although she had suffered much among the
Huguenots in her youth, when her husband was left for dead on the S.
Barthelemi.
He, my grandfather, had long been dead, but I perfectly remember her.
She used to give me a sugar-cake when I said 'Bon soir, bonne maman,'
with the right accent, and no one made sugar-cake like hers. She always
wore at her girdle a string of little yellow shells, which she desired to
have buried with her. We children were never weary of hearing how
they had been the only traces of her or of her daughter that her husband
could find, when he came to the ruined city.
I could fill this book with her stories, but I must not linger over them;
and indeed I heard no more after I was eight years old. Until that time
my brother and I were left under her charge in the country, while my
father and mother were at court. My mother was one of the Ladies of
the Bedchamber of Queen Henrietta Maria, who had been enchanted to
find in her a countrywoman, and of the same faith. I was likewise bred
up in their Church, my mother having obtained the consent of my
father, during a dangerous illness that followed my birth, but the other
children were all brought up as Protestants. Indeed, no difference was
made between Eustace and me when we were at Walwyn. Our
grandmother taught us both alike to make the sign of the cross, and
likewise to say our prayers and the catechism; and oh! we loved her
very much.
Eustace once gave two black eyes to our rude cousin, Harry Merricourt,
for laughing when he said no one was as beautiful as the Grandmother,
and though I am an old woman myself, I think he was right. She was
like a little fairy, upright and trim, with dark flashing eyes, that never
forgot how to laugh, and snowy curls on her brow.

I believe that the dear old lady made herself ill by nursing us two
children day and night when we had the smallpox. She had a stroke,
and died before my father could be fetched from London; but I knew
nothing of all that; I only grieved, and wondered that she did not come
to me, till at last the maid who was nursing me told me flatly that the
old lady was dead. I think that afterwards we were sent down to a
farmer's house by the sea, to be bathed and made rid of infection; and
that the pleasure of being set free from our sick chambers and of
playing on the shore drove from our minds for the time our grief for the
good grandma, though indeed I dream of her often still, and of the old
rooms and gardens at Walwyn, though I have never seen them since.
When we were quite well and tolerably free from pock-marks, my
father took us to London with him, and there Eustace was sent to
school at