'Come,' said Mr. Rigby, when Coningsby was somewhat composed, 'come with
me and we will see the house.'

So they descended once more the private staircase, and again entered the
vestibule.

'If you had seen these gardens when they were illuminated for a fete to
George IV.,' said Rigby, as crossing the chamber he ushered his charge
into the state apartments. The splendour and variety of the surrounding
objects soon distracted the attention of the boy, for the first time in
the palace of his fathers. He traversed saloon after saloon hung with rare
tapestry and the gorgeous products of foreign looms; filled with choice
pictures and creations of curious art; cabinets that sovereigns might
envy, and colossal vases of malachite presented by emperors. Coningsby
alternately gazed up to ceilings glowing with color and with gold, and
down upon carpets bright with the fancies and vivid with the tints of
Aubusson and of Axminster.

'This grandfather of mine is a great prince,' thought Coningsby, as musing
he stood before a portrait in which he recognised the features of the
being from whom he had so recently and so strangely parted. There he
stood, Philip Augustus, Marquess of Monmouth, in his robes of state, with
his new coronet on a table near him, a despatch lying at hand that
indicated the special mission of high ceremony of which he had been the
illustrious envoy, and the garter beneath his knee.

'You will have plenty of opportunities to look at the pictures,' said
Rigby, observing that the boy had now quite recovered himself. 'Some
luncheon will do you no harm after our drive;' and he opened the door of
another apartment.