CHAPTER XXXIX
LONDON
Twelve hours after my arrival in England I entered London. I cannot attempt to record the sensations which thronged my mind as the din and tumult of that mighty city awoke me from a sound sleep I had fallen into in the corner of the chaise. The seemingly interminable lines of lamplight, the crash of carriages, the glare of the shops, the buzz of voices, made up a chaotic mass of sights and sounds, leaving my efforts at thought vain and fruitless.
Obedient to my instructions, I lost not a moment in my preparations to deliver my despatches. Having dressed myself in the full uniform of my corps, I drove to the Horse Guards. It was now nine o’clock, and I learned that his Royal Highness had gone to dinner at Carlton House. In a few words which I spoke with the aide-de-camp, I discovered that no information of the fall of Ciudad Rodrigo had yet reached England. The greatest anxiety prevailed as to the events of the Peninsula, from which no despatches had been received for several weeks past.
To Carlton House I accordingly bent my steps, without any precise determination how I should proceed when there, nor knowing how far etiquette might be an obstacle to the accomplishment of my mission. The news of which I was the bearer was, however, of too important a character to permit me to hesitate, and I presented myself to the aide-de-camp in waiting, simply stating that I was intrusted with important letters to his Royal Highness, the purport of which did not admit of delay.
“They have not gone to dinner yet,” lisped out the aide-de-camp, “and if you would permit me to deliver the letters – ”
“Mine are despatches,” said I, somewhat proudly, and in no way disposed to cede to another the honor of personally delivering them into the hands of the duke.
“Then you had better present yourself at the levee to-morrow morning,” replied he, carelessly, while he turned into one of the window recesses, and resumed the conversation with one of the gentlemen-in-waiting.
I stood for some moments uncertain and undecided; reluctant on the one part to relinquish my claim as the bearer of the despatches, and equally unwilling to defer their delivery till the following day.
Adopting the former alternative, I took my papers from my sabretasche, and was about to place them in the hands of the aide-de-camp, when the folding-doors at the end of the apartment suddenly flew open, and a large and handsome man with a high bald forehead entered hastily.
The different persons in waiting sprang from their lounging attitudes upon the sofas, and bowed respectfully as he passed on towards another door. His dress was a plain blue coat, buttoned to the collar, and his only decoration a brilliant star upon the breast. There was that air, however, of high birth and bearing about him that left no doubt upon my mind he was of the blood royal.
As the aide-de-camp to whom I had been speaking opened the door for him to pass out, I could hear some words in a low voice, in which the phrases, “letters of importance” and “your Royal Highness” occurred. The individual addressed turned suddenly about, and casting a rapid glance around the room, without deigning a word in reply, walked straight up to where I was standing.
“Despatches for me, sir?” said he, shortly, taking, as he spoke, the packet from my hand.
“For his Royal Highness the commander-in-chief,” said I, bowing respectfully, and still uncertain in whose presence I was standing. He broke the seal without answering, and as his eye caught the first lines of the despatch, broke out into an exclamation of —
Ha, Peninsular news! When did you arrive, sir?”
“An hour since, sir.”
“And these letters are from – ”
“General Picton, your Royal Highness.”
“How glorious! How splendidly done!” muttered he to himself, as he ran his eyes rapidly over the letter. “Are you Captain O’Malley, whose name is mentioned here so favorably?”
I bowed deeply in reply.
“You are most highly spoken of, and it will give me sincere pleasure to recommend you to the notice of the Prince Regent. But stay a moment,” so saying, he hurriedly passed from the room, leaving me overwhelmed at the suddenness of the incident, and a mark of no small astonishment to the different persons in waiting, who had hitherto no other idea but that my despatches were from Hounslow or Knightsbridge.
“Captain O’Malley,” said an officer covered with decorations, and whose slightly foreign accent bespoke the Hanoverian, “his Royal Highness requests you will accompany me.” The door opened as he spoke, and I found myself in a most splendidly lit-up apartment, – the walls covered with pictures, and the ceiling divided, into panels resplendent with the richest gilding. A group of persons in court dresses were conversing in a low tone as we entered, but suddenly ceased, and saluting my conductor respectfully, made way for us to pass on. The folding-doors again opened as we approached, and we found ourselves in a long gallery, whose sumptuous furniture and costly decorations shone beneath the rich tints of a massive lustre of ruby glass, diffusing a glow resembling the most gorgeous sunset. Here also some persons in handsome uniform were conversing, one of whom accosted my companion by the title of “Baron;” nodding familiarly as he muttered a few words in German, he passed forward, and the next moment the doors were thrown suddenly wide, and we entered the drawing-room.
The buzz of voices and the sound of laughter reassured me as I came forward, and before I had well time to think where and why I was there, the Duke of York advanced towards me, with a smile of peculiar sweetness in its expression, and said, as he turned towards one side: —
“Your Royal Highness – Captain O’Malley!”
As he spoke the Prince moved forward, and bowed slightly.
“You’ve brought us capital news, Mr. O’Malley. May I beg, if you’re not too much tired, you’ll join us at dinner. I am most anxious to learn the particulars of the assault.”
As I bowed my acknowledgments to the gracious invitation, he continued: —
“Are you acquainted with my friend here? – but of course you can scarcely be; you began too early as a soldier. So let me present you to my friend, Mr. Tierney,” a middle-aged man, whose broad, white forehead and deep-set eyes gave a character to features that were otherwise not remarkable in expression, and who bowed rather stiffly.
Before he had concluded a somewhat labored compliment to me, we were joined by a third person, whose strikingly-handsome features were lit up with an expression of the most animated kind. He accosted the Prince with an air of easy familiarity, and while he led him from the group, appeared to be relating some anecdote which actually convulsed his Royal Highness with laughter.
Before I had time or opportunity to inquire who the individual could be, dinner was announced, and the wide folding-doors being thrown open, displayed the magnificent dining-room of Carlton House in all the blaze and splendor of its magnificence.
The sudden change from the rough vicissitudes of campaigning life to all the luxury and voluptuous elegance of a brilliant court, created too much confusion in my mind to permit of my impressions being the most accurate or most collected. The splendor of the scene, the rank, but even more the talent of the individuals by whom I was surrounded, had all their full effect upon me. And although I found, from the tone of the conversation about, how immeasurably I was their inferior, yet by a delicate and courteous interest in the scene of which I had lately partaken, they took away the awkwardness which in some degree was inseparable from the novelty of my position among them.
Conversing about the Peninsula with a degree of knowledge which I could in no wise comprehend from those not engaged in the war, they appeared perfectly acquainted with all the details of the campaign; and I heard on every side of me anecdotes and stories which I scarcely believed known beyond the precincts of a regiment. The Prince himself – the grace and charm of whose narrative talents have seldom been excelled – was particularly conspicuous, and I could not help feeling struck with his admirable imitations of voice and manner. The most accomplished actor could not have personated the canny, calculating spirit of the Scot, or the rollicking recklessness of the Irishman, with more tact and finesse. But far above all this, shone the person I have already alluded to as speaking to his Royal Highness in the drawing-room. Combining the happiest conversational eloquence with a quick, ready, and brilliant fancy, he threw from him in all the careless profusion of boundless resource a shower of pointed and epigrammatic witticisms. Now illustrating a really difficult subject by one happy touch, as the blaze of the lightning will light up the whole surface of the dark landscape beneath it; now turning the force of an adversary’s argument by some fallacious but unanswerable jest, accompanying the whole by those fascinations of voice, look, gesture, and manner which have made those who once have seen, never able to forget Brinsley Sheridan.
I am not able, were I even disposed, to record more particularly the details of that most brilliant evening of my life. On every side of me I heard the names of those whose fame as statesmen or whose repute as men of letters was ringing throughout Europe. They were then, too, not in the easy indolence of ordinary life, but displaying with their utmost effort those powers of wit, fancy, imagination, and eloquence which had won for them elsewhere their high and exalted position. The masculine understanding and powerful intellect of Tierney vied with the brilliant and dazzling conceptions of Sheridan. The easy bonhomie and English heartiness of Fox contrasted with the cutting sarcasm and sharp raillery of O’Kelly. While contesting the palm with each himself, the Prince evinced powers of mind and eloquent facilities of expression that, in any walk of life, must have made their possessor a most distinguished man. Politics, war, women, literature, the turf, the navy, the opposition, architecture, and the drama, were all discussed with a degree of information and knowledge that proved to me how much of real acquirements can be obtained by those whose exalted station surrounds them with the collective intellect of a nation. As for myself, the time flew past unconsciously. So brilliant a display of all that was courtly and fascinating in manner, and all that was brightest in genius, was so novel to me, that I really felt like one entranced. To this hour, my impression, however confused in details, is as vivid as though that evening were but yesternight; and although since that period I have enjoyed numerous opportunities of meeting with the great and the gifted, yet I treasure the memory of that evening as by far the most exciting of my whole life.
While I abstain from any mention of the many incidents of the evening, I cannot pass over one which, occurring to myself, is valuable but as showing, by one slight and passing trait, the amiable and kind feeling of one whose memory is hallowed in the service.
A little lower than myself, on the opposite side of the table, I perceived an old military acquaintance whom I had first met in Lisbon. He was then on Sir Charles Stewart’s staff, and we met almost daily. Wishing to commend myself to his recollection, I endeavored for some time to catch his eye, but in vain; but at last when I thought I had succeeded, I called to him, —
“I say, Fred, a glass of wine with you.”
When suddenly the Duke of York, who was speaking to Lord Hertford, turned quickly round, and taking the decanter in his hand, replied, —
“With pleasure, O’Malley. What shall it be, my boy?”
I shall never forget the manly good-humor of his look as he sat waiting for my answer. He had taken my speech as addressed to himself, and concluding that from fatigue, the novelty of the scene, my youth, etc., I was not over collected, vouchsafed in this kind way to receive it.
“So,” said he, as I stammered out my explanation, “I was deceived. However, don’t cheat me out of my glass of wine. Let us have it now.”
With this little anecdote, whose truth I vouch for, I shall conclude. More than one now living was a witness to it, and my only regret in the mention of it is my inability to convey the readiness with which he seized the moment of apparent difficulty to throw the protection of his kind and warm-hearted nature over the apparent folly of a boy.
It was late when the party broke up, and as I took my leave of the Prince, he once more expressed himself in gracious terms towards me, and gave me personally an invitation to a breakfast at Hounslow on the following Saturday.
CHAPTER XL
THE BELL AT BRISTOL
On the morning after my dinner at Carlton House, I found my breakfast-table covered with cards and invitations. The news of the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo was published in all the morning papers, and my own humble name, in letters of three feet long, was exhibited in placards throughout the city. Less to this circumstance, however, than to the kind and gracious notice of the Prince, was I indebted for the attentions which were shown me by every one; and indeed, so flattering was the reception I met with, and so overwhelming the civility showered on me from all sides, that it required no small effort on my part not to believe myself as much a hero as they would make me. An eternal round of dinners, balls, breakfasts, and entertainments filled up the entire week. I was included in every invitation to Carlton House, and never appeared without receiving from his Royal Highness the most striking marks of attention. Captivating as all this undoubtedly was, and fascinated as I felt in being the lion of London, the courted and sought after by the high, the titled, and the talented of the great city of the universe, yet amidst all the splendor and seduction of that new world, my heart instinctively turned from the glare and brilliancy of gorgeous saloons, from the soft looks and softer voice of beauty, from the words of praise as they fell from the lips of those whose notice was fame itself, – to my humble home amidst the mountains of the west. Delighted and charmed as I felt by that tribute of flattery which associated my name with one of the most brilliant actions of my country, yet hitherto I had experienced no touch of home or fatherland. England was to me as the high and powerful head of my house, whose greatness and whose glory shed a halo far and near, from the proudest to the humblest of those that call themselves Britons; but Ireland was-the land of my birth, – the land of my earliest ties, my dearest associations, – the kind mother whose breath had fanned my brow in infancy, and for her in my manhood my heart beat with every throb of filial affection. Need I say, then, how ardently I longed to turn homeward; for independent of all else, I could not avoid some self-reproach on thinking what might be the condition of those I prized the most on earth, at that very moment I was engaging in all the voluptuous abandonment, and all the fascinating excesses of a life of pleasure. I wrote several letters home, but received no answer; nor did I, in the whole round of London society, meet with a single person who could give me information of my family or my friends. The Easter recess had sent the different members of Parliament to their homes; and thus, within a comparatively short distance of all I cared for, I could learn nothing of their fate.
The invitations of the Prince Regent, which were, of course, to be regarded as commands, still detained me in London; and I knew not in what manner to escape from the fresh engagements which each day heaped upon me. In my anxiety upon the subject, I communicated my wishes to a friend on the duke’s staff, and the following morning, as I presented myself at his levee, he called me towards him and addressed me: —
“What leave have you got, Captain O’Malley?”
“Three months, your Royal Highness.”
“Do you desire an unattached troop; for if so, an opportunity occurs just at this moment.”
“I thank you most sincerely, sir, for your condescension in thinking of me; but my wish is to join my regiment at the expiration of my leave.”
“Why, I thought they told me you wanted to spend some time in Ireland?”
“Only sufficient to see my friends, your Royal Highness. That done, I’d rather join my regiment immediately.”
“Ah, that alters the case! So then, probably, you’d like to leave us at once. I see how it is; you’ve been staying here against your will all this while. Then, don’t say a word. I’ll make your excuses at Carlton House; and the better to cover your retreat, I’ll employ you on service. Here, Gordon, let Captain O’Malley have the despatches for Sir Henry Howard, at Cork.” As he said this, he turned towards me with an air of affected sternness in his manner, and continued: “I expect, Captain O’Malley, that you will deliver the despatches intrusted to your care without a moment’s loss of time. You will leave London within an hour. The instructions for your journey will be sent to your hotel. And now,” said he, again changing his voice to its natural tone of kindliness and courtesy, – “and now, my boy, good-by, and a safe journey to you. These letters will pay your expenses, and the occasion save you all the worry of leave-taking.”
I stood confused and speechless, unable to utter a single word of gratitude for such unexpected kindness. The duke saw at once my difficulty, and as he shook me warmly by the hand, added, in a laughing tone, —
“Don’t wait, now; you mustn’t forget that your despatches are pressing.”
I bowed deeply, attempted a few words of acknowledgment, hesitated, blundered, broke down, and at last got out of the room, Heaven knows how, and found myself running towards Long’s at the top of my speed. Within that same hour I was rattling along towards Bristol as fast as four posters could burn the pavement, thinking with ecstasy over the pleasures of my reception in England; but far more than all, of the kindness evinced towards me by him who, in every feeling of his nature, and in every feature of his deportment was “every inch a prince.”
However astonished I had been at the warmth, by which I was treated in London, I was still less prepared for the enthusiasm which greeted me in every town through which I passed. There was not a village where we stopped to change horses whose inhabitants did not simultaneously pour forth to welcome me with every demonstration of delight. That the fact of four horses and a yellow chaise should have elicited such testimonies of satisfaction, was somewhat difficult to conceive; and even had the important news that I was the bearer of despatches been telegraphed from London by successive postboys, still the extraordinary excitement was unaccountable. It was only on reaching Bristol that I learned to what circumstance my popularity was owing. My friend Mike, in humble imitation of election practices, had posted a large placard on the back of the chaise, announcing, in letters of portentous length, something like the following: —
“Bloody news! Fall of Ciudad Rodrigo! Five thousand prisoners and two hundred pieces of cannon taken!”
This veracious and satisfactory statement, aided by Mike’s personal exertions, and an unwearied performance on the trumpet he had taken from the French dragoon, had roused the population of every hamlet, and made our journey from London to Bristol one scene of uproar, noise, and confusion. All my attempts to suppress Mike’s oratory or music were perfectly unavailing. In fact, he had pledged my health so many times during the day; he had drunk so many toasts to the success of the British arms, so many to the English nation, so many in honor of Ireland, and so many in honor of Mickey Free himself, – that all respect for my authority was lost in his enthusiasm for my greatness, and his shouts became wilder, and the blasts from the trumpet more fearful and incoherent; and finally, on the last stage of our journey, having exhausted as it were every tribute of his lungs, he seemed (if I were to judge by the evidence of my ears) to be performing something very like a hornpipe on the roof of the chaise.
Happily for me there is a limit to all human efforts, and even his powers at length succumbed; so that, when we arrived at Bristol, I persuaded him to go to bed, and I once more was left to the enjoyment of some quiet. To fill up the few hours which intervened before bedtime, I strolled into the coffee room. The English look of every one, and everything around, had still its charm for me; and I contemplated, with no small admiration, that air of neatness and propriety so observant from the bright-faced clock that ticked unwearily upon the mantelpiece, to the trim waiter himself, with noiseless step and a mixed look of vigilance and vacancy. The perfect stillness struck me, save when a deep voice called for “another brandy-and-water,” and some more modestly-toned request would utter a desire for “more cream.” The attention of each man, absorbed in the folds of his voluminous newspaper, scarcely deigning a glance at the new-comer who entered, was in keeping with the general surroundings, – giving, in their solemnity and gravity, a character of almost religious seriousness, to what, in any other land, would be a scene of riotous and discordant tumult. I was watching all this with a more than common interest, when the door opened, and the waiter entered with a large placard. He was followed by another with a ladder, by whose assistance he succeeded in attaching the large square of paper to the wall above the fireplace. Every one about rose up, curious to ascertain what was going forward; and I myself joined in the crowd around the fire. The first glance of the announcement showed me what it meant; and it was with a strange mixture of shame and confusion I read: —
“Fall of Ciudad Rodrigo: with a full and detailed account of thestorming of the great breach, capture of the enemy’s cannon, etc., byMichael Free, 14th Light Dragoons.”
Leaving the many around me busied in conjecturing who the aforesaid Mr. Free might be, and what peculiar opportunities he might have enjoyed for his report, I hurried from the room and called the waiter.
“What’s the meaning of the announcement you’ve just put up in the coffee-room? Where did it come from?”
“Most important news, sir; exclusively in the columns of the ‘Bristol Telegraph,’ – the gentleman has just arrived – ”
“Who, pray? What gentleman?”
“Mr. Free, sir, No. 13 – large bed-room – blue damask – supper for two – oysters – a devil – brandy-and-water-mulled port.”
“What the devil do you mean? Is the fellow at supper?”
Somewhat shocked by the tone I ventured to assume towards the illustrious narrator, the waiter merely bowed his reply.
“Show me to his room,” said I; “I should like to see him.”
“Follow me, if you please, sir, – this way. What name shall I say, sir?”
“You need not mind announcing me, – I’m an old acquaintance, – just show me the room.”
“I beg pardon, sir, but Mr. Meekins, the editor of the ‘Telegraph,’ is engaged with him at present; and positive orders are given not to suffer any interruption.”
“No matter; do as I bid you. Is that it? Oh, I hear his voice. There, that will do. You may go down-stairs, I’ll introduce myself.”
So saying, and slipping a crown into the waiter’s hand, I proceeded cautiously towards the door, and opened it stealthily. My caution was, however, needless; for a large screen was drawn across this part of the room, completely concealing the door, closing which behind me, I took my place beneath the shelter of this ambuscade, determined on no account to be perceived by the parties.
Seated in a large arm-chair, a smoking tumbler of mulled port before him, sat my friend Mike, dressed in my full regimentals, even to the helmet, which, unfortunately however for the effect, he had put on back foremost; a short “dudeen” graced his lip, and the trumpet so frequently alluded to lay near him.
Opposite him sat a short, puny, round-faced little gentleman with rolling eyes and a turned up nose. Numerous sheets of paper, pens, etc., lay scattered about; and he evinced, by his air and gesture, the most marked and eager attention to Mr. Free’s narrative, whose frequent interruptions, caused by the drink and the oysters, were viewed with no small impatience by the anxious editor.
“You must remember, Captain, time’s passing; the placards are all out. Must be at press before one o’clock to-night, – the morning edition is everything with us. You were at the first parallel, I think.”
“Devil a one o’ me knows. Just ring that bell near you. Them’s elegant oysters; and you’re not taking your drop of liquor. Here’s a toast for you: ‘May – ’ Whoop! raal Carlingford’s, upon my conscience! See now, if I won’t hit the little black chap up there the first shot.”
Scarcely were the words spoken, when a little painted bust of Shakespeare fell in fragments on the floor, as an oyster-shell laid him low.
A faint effort at a laugh at the eccentricities of his friend was all the poor editor could accomplish, while Mike’s triumph knew no bounds.
“Didn’t I tell you? But come now, are you ready? Give the pen a drink, if you won’t take one yourself.”
“I am ready, quite ready,” responded the editor.
“Faith, and it’s more nor I am. See now, here it is: The night was murthering dark; you could not see a stim.”
“Not see a – a what?”
“A stim, bad luck to you; don’t you know English? Hand me the hot water. Have you that down yet?”
“Yes. Pray proceed.”
“The Fifth Division was orthered up, bekase they were fighting chaps; the Eighty-eighth was among them; the Rangers – Oh, upon my soul, we must drink the Rangers! Here, devil a one o’ me will go on till we give them all the honors – Hip! – begin.”
“Hip!” sighed the luckless editor, as he rose from his chair, obedient to the command.
“Hurra! hurra! hurra! Well done! There’s stuff in you yet, ould foolscap! The little bottle’s empty; ring again, if ye plaze.
‘Oh, Father Magan
Was a beautiful man,
But a bit of a rogue, a bit of a rogue!
He was just six feet high,
Had a cast in his eye,
And an illigint brogue, an illigint brogue!
‘He was born in Killarney,
And reared up in blarney – ’
“Arrah, don’t be looking miserable and dissolute that way. Sure, I’m only screwing myself up for you; besides, you can print the song av you like. It’s a sweet tune, ‘Teddy, you Gander,’”
“Really, Mr. Free, I see no prospect of our ever getting done.”
“The saints in Heaven forbid!” interrupted Mike, piously; “the evening’s young, and drink plenty. Here now, make ready!”
The editor once more made a gesture of preparation.
“Well, as I was saying,” resumed Mike, “it was pitch dark when the columns moved up, and a cold, raw night, with a little thin rain falling. Have you that down?”
“Yes. Pray go on.”
“Well, just as it might be here, at the corner of the trench, I met Dr. Quill. ‘They’re waiting for you, Mr. Free,’ says he, ‘down there. Picton’s asking for you.’ ‘Faith, and he must wait,’ says I, ‘for I’m terrible dry.’ With that, he pulled out his canteen and mixed me a little brandy-and-water. ‘Are you taking it without a toast?’ says Doctor Maurice. ‘Never fear,’ says I; ‘here’s Mary Brady – ‘”
“But, my dear sir,” interposed Mr. Meekins, “pray do remember this is somewhat irrelevant. In fifteen minutes it will be twelve o’clock.”
“I know it, ould boy, I know it. I see what you’re at. You were going to observe how much better we’d be for a broiled bone.”
“Nothing of the kind, I assure you. For Heaven’s sake, no more eating and drinking!”
“No more eating nor drinking! Why not? You’ve a nice notion of a convivial evening. Faith, we’ll have the broiled bone sure enough, and, what’s more, a half gallon of the strongest punch they can make us; an’ I hope that, grave as you are, you’ll favor the company with a song.”
“Really, Mr. Free – ”
“Arrah, none of your blarney! Don’t be misthering me! Call me Mickey, or Mickey Free, if you like better.”
“I protest,” said the editor, with dismay, “that here we are two hours at work, and we haven’t got to the foot of the great breach.”
“And wasn’t the army three months and a half in just getting that far, with a battering train and mortars and the finest troops ever were seen? And there you sit, a little fat creature, with your pen in your hand, grumbling that you can’t do more than the whole British army. Take care you don’t provoke me to beat you; for I am quiet till I’m roused. But, by the Rock o’ Cashel – ”
Here he grasped the brass trumpet with an energy that made the editor spring from his chair.
“For mercy’s sake, Mr. Free – ”
“Well, I won’t; but sit down there, and don’t be bothering me about sieges and battles and things you know nothing about.”
“I protest,” rejoined Mr. Meekins, “that, had you not sent to my office intimating your wish to communicate an account of the siege, I never should have thought of intruding myself upon you. And now, since you appear indisposed to afford the information in question, if you will permit me, I’ll wish you a very good-night.”
“Faith, and so you shall, and help me to pass one too; for not a step out o’ that chair shall you take till morning. Do ye think I am going to be left here by myself all alone?”
“I must observe – ” said Mr. Meekins.
“To be sure, to be sure,” said Mickey; “I see what you mean. You’re not the best of company, it’s true; but at a pinch like this – There now, take, your liquor.”
“Once for all, sir,” said the editor, “I would beg you to recollect that, on the faith of your message to me, I have announced an account of the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo for our morning edition. Are you prepared, may I ask, for the consequences of my disappointing ten thousand readers?”
“It’s little I care for one of them. I never knew much of reading myself.”
“If you think to make a jest of me – ” interposed Mr. Meekins, reddening with passion.