It happened that a still more remarkable Englishwoman was in the Belgian capital, but she was not remarked; and Queen Victoria passed unknowing before the steady gaze of one of the mistresses in M.Heger's pensionnat.

"A little stout, vivacious lady, very plainly dressed--not much dignity or pretension about her," was Charlotte Bronte's comment as the royal carriage and six flashed by her, making her wait on the pavement for a moment, and interrupting the train of her reflections.
Victoria was in high spirits, and even succeeded in instilling a little cheerfulness into her uncle's sombre Court.

King Leopold, indeed, was perfectly contented.

His dearest hopes had been fulfilled; all his ambitions were satisfied; and for the rest of his life he had only to enjoy, in undisturbed decorum, his throne, his respectability, the table of precedence, and the punctual discharge of his irksome duties.
But unfortunately the felicity of those who surrounded him was less complete.

His Court, it was murmured, was as gloomy as a conventicle, and the most dismal of all the sufferers was his wife.