Behind
the thrones the flock of floral angels grouped themselves;
archbishop, prime minister, and embassadors, took their stand
within the lines of the soldiery, and the music softly and
impressively died sway in the distance; dead silence reigned.
"My lord Duke," began the queen, in the very voice he had heard
at the plague-pit, as she turned to the stylish individual next
the archbishop, "come forward and read us the roll of mortality
since our last meeting."
His grace, the duke, instantly stepped forward, bowing so low
that nothing was seen of him for a brief space, but the small of
his back, and when he reared himself up, after this convulsion of
nature, Sir Norman beheld a face not entirely new to him. At
first, he could not imagine where he had seen it, but speedily
she recollected it was the identical face of the highwayman who
had beaten an inglorious retreat from him and Count L'Estrange,
that very night. This ducat robber drew forth a roll of
parchment, and began reading, in lachrymose tones, a select
litany of defunct gentlemen, with hifalutin titles who had
departed this life during the present week. Most of them had
gone with the plague, but a few had died from natural causes, and
among these were the Earls of Craven and Ashley.
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