“I won’t, I can’t, I shan’t,—I’ll resign the crown first,” shouts Giglio, tearing away his hand; but Gruff clung to it.
“I have a competency, my love,” she says, “and with thee and a cottage thy Barbara will be happy.”
Giglio was half mad with rage by this time. “I will not marry her,” says he. “O Fairy, Fairy, give me counsel!” And as he spoke, he looked wildly round at the severe face of the Fairy Blackstick.
“‘Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and warning me to keep my word? Does she suppose that I am not a man of honor?’” said the Fairy, quoting Giglio’s own haughty words. He quailed under the brightness of her eyes: he felt that there was no escape for him from that awful Inquisition.
“Well, Archbishop,” said he, in a dreadful voice that made his Grace start, “since this Fairy has led me to the height of happiness but to dash me down into the depths of despair, since I am to lose Rosalba, let me at least keep my honor. Get up, Countess, and let us be married; I can keep my word, but I can die afterwards.”
“O dear Giglio,” cries Gruffanuff, skipping up, “I knew, I knew I could trust thee—I knew that my Prince was the soul of honor. Jump into your carriages, ladies and gentlemen, and let us go to church at once; and as for dying, dear Giglio, no, no:—thou wilt forget that insignificant little chambermaid of a queen—thou wilt live to be consoled by thy Barbara! She wishes to be a Queen, and not a Queen Dowager, my gracious lord!” And hanging upon poor Giglio’s arm, and leering and grinning in his face in the most disgusting manner, this old wretch tripped off in her white satin shoes, and jumped into the very carriage which had been got ready to convey Giglio and Rosalba to church. The cannons roared again, the bells pealed triple-bobmajors, the people came out flinging flowers upon the path of the royal bride and bridegroom, and Gruff looked out of the gilt coach window and bowed and grinned to them. Phoo! the horrid old wretch!
