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- Стр. 135/153
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The
great
pageant
moved
on
,
and
still
on
,
under
one
triumphal
arch
after
another
,
and
past
a
bewildering
succession
of
spectacular
and
symbolical
tableaux
,
each
of
which
typified
and
exalted
some
virtue
,
or
talent
,
or
merit
,
of
the
little
King
's
.
'
Throughout
the
whole
of
Cheapside
,
from
every
penthouse
and
window
,
hung
banners
and
streamers
;
and
the
richest
carpets
,
stuffs
,
and
cloth-of-gold
tapestried
the
streets
--
specimens
of
the
great
wealth
of
the
stores
within
;
and
the
splendour
of
this
thoroughfare
was
equalled
in
the
other
streets
,
and
in
some
even
surpassed
.
'
"
And
all
these
wonders
and
these
marvels
are
to
welcome
me
--
me
!
"
murmured
Tom
Canty
.
The
mock
King
's
cheeks
were
flushed
with
excitement
,
his
eyes
were
flashing
,
his
senses
swam
in
a
delirium
of
pleasure
.
At
this
point
,
just
as
he
was
raising
his
hand
to
fling
another
rich
largess
,
he
caught
sight
of
a
pale
,
astounded
face
,
which
was
strained
forward
out
of
the
second
rank
of
the
crowd
,
its
intense
eyes
riveted
upon
him
.
A
sickening
consternation
struck
through
him
;
he
recognised
his
mother
!
and
up
flew
his
hand
,
palm
outward
,
before
his
eyes
--
that
old
involuntary
gesture
,
born
of
a
forgotten
episode
,
and
perpetuated
by
habit
.
In
an
instant
more
she
had
torn
her
way
out
of
the
press
,
and
past
the
guards
,
and
was
at
his
side
.
She
embraced
his
leg
,
she
covered
it
with
kisses
,
she
cried
,
"
O
my
child
,
my
darling
!
"
lifting
toward
him
a
face
that
was
transfigured
with
joy
and
love
.
The
same
instant
an
officer
of
the
King
's
Guard
snatched
her
away
with
a
curse
,
and
sent
her
reeling
back
whence
she
came
with
a
vigorous
impulse
from
his
strong
arm
,
issuing
out
of
a
vast
red
rose
,
disposed
in
the
same
manner
:
The
words
"
I
do
not
know
you
,
woman
!
"
were
falling
from
Tom
Canty
's
lips
when
this
piteous
thing
occurred
;
but
it
smote
him
to
the
heart
to
see
her
treated
so
;
and
as
she
turned
for
a
last
glimpse
of
him
,
whilst
the
crowd
was
swallowing
her
from
his
sight
,
she
seemed
so
wounded
,
so
broken-hearted
,
that
a
shame
fell
upon
him
which
consumed
his
pride
to
ashes
,
and
withered
his
stolen
royalty
.
His
grandeurs
were
stricken
valueless
:
they
seemed
to
fall
away
from
him
like
rotten
rags
.
The
procession
moved
on
,
and
still
on
,
through
ever
augmenting
splendours
and
ever
augmenting
tempests
of
welcome
;
but
to
Tom
Canty
they
were
as
if
they
had
not
been
.
He
neither
saw
nor
heard
.
Royalty
had
lost
its
grace
and
sweetness
;
its
pomps
were
become
a
reproach
.
Remorse
was
eating
his
heart
out
.
He
said
,
"
Would
God
I
were
free
of
my
captivity
!
"
He
had
unconsciously
dropped
back
into
the
phraseology
of
the
first
days
of
his
compulsory
greatness
.
The
shining
pageant
still
went
winding
like
a
radiant
and
interminable
serpent
down
the
crooked
lanes
of
the
quaint
old
city
,
and
through
the
huzzaing
hosts
;
but
still
the
King
rode
with
bowed
head
and
vacant
eyes
,
seeing
only
his
mother
's
face
and
that
wounded
look
in
it
.
"
Largess
,
largess
!
"
The
cry
fell
upon
an
unheeding
ear
.
"
Long
live
Edward
of
England
!
"
It
seemed
as
if
the
earth
shook
with
the
explosion
;
but
there
was
no
response
from
the
King
.
