the bewildering phrase 'the People' would have remained, what it really
is, a term of natural philosophy, and not of political science.

During this eventful week of May, 1832, when an important revolution was
effected in the most considerable of modern kingdoms, in a manner so
tranquil, that the victims themselves were scarcely conscious at the time
of the catastrophe, Coningsby passed his hours in unaccustomed pleasures,
and in novel excitement. Although he heard daily from the lips of Mr.
Rigby and his friends that England was for ever lost, the assembled guests
still contrived to do justice to his grandfather's excellent dinners; nor
did the impending ruin that awaited them prevent the Princess Colonna from
going to the Opera, whither she very good-naturedly took Coningsby. Madame
Colonna, indeed, gave such gratifying accounts of her dear young friend,
that Coningsby became daily a greater favourite with Lord Monmouth, who
cherished the idea that his grandson had inherited not merely the colour
of his eyes, but something of his shrewd and fearless spirit.

With Lucretia, Coningsby did not much advance. She remained silent and
sullen. She was not beautiful; pallid, with a lowering brow, and an eye
that avoided meeting another's. Madame Colonna, though good-natured, felt
for her something of the affection for which step-mothers are celebrated.
Lucretia, indeed, did not encourage her kindness, which irritated her
step-mother, who seemed seldom to address her but to rate and chide;
Lucretia never replied, but looked dogged. Her father, the Prince, did not
compensate for this treatment. The memory of her mother, whom he had
greatly disliked, did not soften his heart. He was a man still young;
slender, not tall; very handsome, but worn; a haggard Antinous; his
beautiful hair daily thinning; his dress rich and effeminate; many jewels,
much lace. He seldom spoke, but was polished, though moody.