Bottle of weapon salve

The queen, as it happened fortunately, was lunching with one of the ladies of her Court. Ricardo did not come down to luncheon, and Jaqueline ate hers alone; and very mournful she felt. The prince had certainly not come well out of the adventure. He had failed (as all attempts to restore the Stuarts always did); he had been wounded, though he had never received a scratch in any of his earlier exploits; and if his honour was safe, and his good intentions fully understood, that was chiefly due to Jaqueline, and to the generosity of King James and Prince Charles.

“I wonder what he’s doing?” she said to herself, and at last she went up and knocked at Ricardo’s door.

“Go away,” he said; “I don’t want to see anybody. Who is it?”

“It’s only me—Jaqueline.”

“It’s only me”

“Go away! I want nobody.”

“Do let me in, dear Dick; I have good news for you,” said the princess.

“What is it?” said Ricardo, unlocking the door. “Why do you bother a fellow so?”

He had been crying—his hand obviously hurt him badly; he looked, and indeed he was, very sulky.

“How did you get on in England, Dick?” asked the princess, taking no notice of his bandaged hand.

“Oh, don’t ask me!” said Ricardo. “I’ve not been to England at all.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Everything that is horrid happened,” said Dick; and then, unable to keep it any longer to himself, he said: “I’ve failed to keep my promise; I’ve been insulted, I’ve been beaten by a fellow younger than myself; and, oh! how my hand does hurt, and I’ve got such a headache! And what am I to say to my mother when she asks why my arm is in a sling? and what will my father say? I’m quite broken down and desperate. I think I’ll run away to sea;” and indeed he looked very wild and miserable.

“Tell me how it all happened, Dick,” said the princess; “I’m sure it’s not so bad as you make out. Perhaps I can help you.”

“How can a girl help a man?” cried Dick, angrily; and poor Jaqueline, remembering how she had helped him, at the risk of her own life, when King James nearly crushed her in the shape of a mosquito, turned her head away, and cried silently.

“I’m a beast,” said Dick. “I beg your pardon, Jack dear. You are always a trump, I will say; but I don’t see what you can do.”

Then he told her all the story (which, of course, she knew perfectly well already), except the part played by the mosquito, of which he could not be aware.

“I was sure it was not so bad as you made it out, Dick,” she said. “You see, the old king, who is not very wise, but is a perfectly honourable gentleman, gave you the highest praise.” She thought of lecturing him a little about disobeying his father, but it did not seem a good opportunity. Besides, Jaqueline had been lectured herself lately, and had not enjoyed it.

“What am I to say to my mother?” Dick repeated.

“We must think of something to say,” said Jaqueline.

“I can’t tell my mother anything but the truth,” Ricardo went on. “Here’s my hand, how it does sting! and she must find out.”

“I think I can cure it,” said Jaqueline. “Didn’t you say Prince Charles gave you his own sword?”

“Yes, there it is; but what has that to do with it?”

“Everything in the world to do with it, my dear Dick. How lucky it is that he gave it to you!”

And she ran to her own room, and brought a beautiful golden casket, which contained her medicines.

Taking out a small phial, marked (in letters of emerald):

“Weapon Salve,”

the princess drew the bright sword, extracted a little of the ointment from the phial, and spread it on a soft silk handkerchief.

“What are you going to do with the sword?” asked Ricardo.

“Polish it a little,” said Jaqueline, smiling, and she began gently to rub, with the salve, the point of the rapier.

As she did so, Ricardo’s arm ceased to hurt, and the look of pain passed from his mouth.

“Why, I feel quite better!” he said. “I can use my hand as well as ever.”

Then he took off the stained handkerchief, and, lo, there was not even a mark where the wound had been! For this was the famous Weapon Salve which you may read about in Sir Kenelm Digby, and which the Lady of Branxholme used, in The Lay of the Last Minstrel. But the secret of making it has long been lost, except in Pantouflia.

“You are the best girl in the world, Jaqueline,” said Ricardo. “You may give me a kiss if you like; and I won’t call you ‘Jack,’ or laugh at you for reading books, any more. There’s something in books after all.”

The princess did not take advantage of Dick’s permission, but advised him to lie down and try to sleep.

“I say, though,” he said, “what about my father?”

“The king need never be told anything about it,” said Jaqueline, “need he?”

“Oh, that won’t do! I tell my father everything; but then, I never had anything like this to tell him before. Don’t you think, Jaqueline, you might break it to him? He’s very fond of you. Just tell him what I told you; it’s every word of it true, and he ought to know. He might see something about it in the Mercure de France.”

This was the newspaper of the period.

“I don’t think it will get into the papers,” said Jaqueline, smiling. “Nobody could tell, except the king and the princes, and they have reasons for keeping it to themselves.”

“I don’t trust that younger one,” said Dick, moodily; “I don’t care for that young man. Anyway, my father must be told; and, if you won’t, I must.”

“Well, I’ll tell him,” said Jaqueline. “And now lie down till evening.”

After dinner, in the conservatory, Jaqueline told King Prigio all about it.

His Majesty was very much moved.

“What extraordinary bad luck that family has!” he thought. “If I had not changed the rug, the merest accident, Prince Charles would have dined at St. James’s to-night, and King George in Hanover. It was the very nearest thing!”

“This meddling with practical affairs will never do,” he said aloud.

“Dick has had a lesson, sire,” said the princess. “He says he’ll never mix himself up with politics again, whatever happens. And he says he means to study all about them, for he feels frightfully ignorant, and, above all, he means to practise his fencing.”

These remarks were not part of the conversation between Ricardo and Jaqueline, but she considered that Dick meant all this, and, really, he did.

“That is well, as far as it goes,” said the king. “But, Jaqueline, about that mosquito?” for she had told him this part of the adventure. “That was a very convenient mosquito, though I don’t know how Dick was able to observe it from any distance. I see your hand in that, my dear, and I am glad you can make such kind and wise use of the lessons of the good Fairy Paribanou. Jaqueline,” he added solemnly, laying his hand on her head, “You have saved the honour of Pantouflia, which is dearer to me than life. Without your help, I tremble to think what might have occurred.”

The princess blushed very much, and felt very happy.

“Now run away to the queen, my dear,” said his Majesty, “I want to think things over.”

He did think them over, and the more he thought the more he felt the inconvenience attending the possession of fairy things.

“An eclipse one day, as nearly as possible a revolution soon after!” he said to himself. “But for Jaqueline, Ricardo’s conduct would have been blazed abroad, England would have been irritated. It is true she cannot get at Pantouflia very easily; we have no sea-coast, and we are surrounded by friendly countries. But it would have been a ticklish and discreditable position. I must really speak to Dick,” which he did next morning after breakfast.

“You have broken my rules, Ricardo,” he said. “True, there is no great harm done, and you have confessed frankly; but how am I to trust you any longer?”

“I’ll give you my sacred word of honour, father, that I’ll never meddle with politics again, or start on an expedition, without telling you. I have had enough of it. And I’ll turn over a new leaf. I’ve learned to be ashamed of my ignorance; and I’ve sent for Francalanza, and I’ll fence every day, and read like anything.”

“Very good,” said the king. “I believe you mean what you say. Now go to your fencing lesson.”

“But, I say, father,” cried Ricardo, “was it not strange about the magic carpet?”

“I told you not to trust to these things,” said the king. “Some enchanter may have deprived it of its power, it may be worn out, someone may have substituted a common Persian rug; anything may happen. You must learn to depend on yourself. Now, be off with you, I’m busy. And remember, you don’t stir without my permission.”

The prince ran off, and presently the sounds of stamping feet and “un, deux; doublez, dÉgagez, vite; contre de carte,” and so forth, might be heard over a great part of the royal establishment.