It was the very scene, and room, and vision,
that La Masque had shown him in the caldron, and that face was
the face of Leoline, and the earl's page.
Could he be dreaming? Was he sane or mad, or were the three
really one?
While he looked, the beautiful queen bowed low, and amid the
profoundest and most respectful silence, took her seat. In her
robes of purple, wearing the glittering crown, sceptre in hand,
throned and canopied, royally beautiful she looked indeed, and a
most vivid contrast to the gentleman near her, seated very much
at his ease, on the lower throne. The contrast was not of dress
- for his outward man was resplendent to look at; but in figure
and face, or grace and dignity, he was a very mean specimen of
the lords of creation, indeed. In stature, he scarcely reached
to the queen's royal shoulder, but made up sideways what he
wanted in length - being the breadth of two common men; his head
was in proportion to his width, and was decorated with a wig of
long, flowing, flaxen hair, that scarcely harmonized with a
profusion of the article whiskers, in hue most unmitigated black;
his eyes were small, keen, bright, and piercing, and glared on
the assembled company as they had done half an hour before on Sir
Norman Kingsley, in the bar-room of the Golden Crown; for the
royal little man was no other than Caliban, the dwarf.
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