"Mr. Murphy!" said Rodolph, with a tone of increased irritation.
"You know, sir, how greatly I detest anything like concealment."
"Your royal highness will excuse me, but it suits me to have certain concealments," said Murphy, bluntly.
"If I descend to familiarity with you, sir, it is on condition that you, at least, act with entire frankness towards me."
It is impossible to describe the extreme hauteur which marked the countenance of Rodolph as he uttered these words.
"I am fifty years of age, I am a gentleman, and your royal highness should not address me in such a tone."
"Your royal highness does wrong in compelling a man of honour and feeling to recall the services he has rendered to you," said the squire, in a calm tone.
"Have I not repaid those services in a thousand ways?"
It should be stated that Rodolph had not attached to these bitter words the humiliating sense which could place Murphy in the light of a mercenary; but such, unfortunately, was the esquire's interpretation of them. He became purple with shame, lifted his two clenched hands to his forehead with an expression of deep grief and indignation, and then, in a moment, as by a sudden revulsion of feeling, throwing his eyes on Rodolph, whose noble countenance was convulsed by the violence of extreme disdain, he said, in a faltering voice, and stifling a sigh of the tenderest pity, "My lord, be yourself; you surpass the bounds of reason."
These words impelled Rodolph to the very height of irritation; his glance had even a savage glare in it; his lips were blanched; and, advancing towards Murphy with a threatening aspect, he exclaimed, "Dare you?"
Murphy retreated, and said, in a quick tone, and as if in spite of himself, "My lord, my lord, _remember the thirteenth of January!_"
These words produced a magical effect on Rodolph. His countenance, contracted by anger, now expanded. He looked at Murphy steadfastly, bowed his head, and then, after a moment's silence, murmured, in faltering accents, "Ah, sir, you are now cruel, indeed. I had thought that my repentance--my deep remorse--and yet it is you--you--"
Rodolph could not finish; his voice was stifled; he sunk, subdued, on a stone bench, and concealed his countenance with both his hands.