Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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gone. The Count of Hombourg had likewise taken his departure, under pretext of particular
business. How lonely the vast castle seemed to Helen, now that HE was no longer there.
The transactions of the last few days; the beautiful archer-boy; the offer from the Rowski
(always an event in a young lady's life); the siege of the castle; the death of her truculent
admirer: all seemed like a fevered dream to her: all was passed away, and had left no trace
behind. No trace?—yes! one: a little insignificant lock of golden hair, over which the young
creature wept so much that she put it out of curl; passing hours and hours in the summerhouse,
where the operation had been performed.
On the second day (it is my belief she would have gone into a consumption and died of
languor, if the event had been delayed a day longer,) a messenger, with a trumpet, brought a
letter in haste to the Prince of Cleves, who was, as usual, taking refreshment. "To the High
and Mighty Prince," &c. the letter ran. "The Champion who had the honor of engaging on
Wednesday last with his late Excellency the Rowski of Donnerblitz, presents his
compliments to H. S. H. the Prince of Cleves. Through the medium of the public prints the
C. has been made acquainted with the flattering proposal of His Serene Highness relative to
a union between himself (the Champion) and her Serene Highness the Princess Helen of
Cleves. The Champion accepts with pleasure that polite invitation, and will have the honor
of waiting upon the Prince and Princess of Cleves about half an hour after the receipt of this
letter."
"Tol lol de rol, girl," shouted the Prince with heartfelt joy. (Have you not remarked, dear
friend, how often in novel-books, and on the stage, joy is announced by the above burst of
insensate monosyllables?) "Tol lol de rol. Don thy best kirtle, child; thy husband will be
here anon." And Helen retired to arrange her toilet for this awful event in the life of a young
woman. When she returned, attired to welcome her defender, her young cheek was as pale
as the white satin slip and orange sprigs she wore.
She was scarce seated on the dais by her father's side, when a huge flourish of trumpets
from without proclaimed the arrival of THE CHAMPION. Helen felt quite sick: a draught
of ether was necessary to restore her tranquillity.
The great door was flung open. He entered,—the same tall warrior, slim, and beautiful,
blazing in shining steel. He approached the Prince's throne, supported on each side by a
friend likewise in armor. He knelt gracefully on one knee.
"I come," said he in a voice trembling with emotion, "to claim, as per advertisement, the
hand of the lovely Lady Helen." And he held out a copy of the Allgemeine Zeitung as he
spoke.
"Art thou noble, Sir Knight?" asked the Prince of Cleves.