Lucienne did not move even when the door was quietly opened, and a voice said gently, “My child, has Monsieur le Marquis gone?” and when, receiving no answer, the speaker came into the room—a clear-complexioned lady of twenty-eight or thereabouts, with a carriage at once dignified and graceful—Madame Philippine-Marie-Hélène-Elisabeth de France, the King’s sister. Lucienne rose mechanically as she came towards her, and turned on her mistress a pale, strained face. The Princess, with a long look at her, took the girl by the hands, and Lucienne without a word of explanation broke out: “Madame, give me some of your strength! Oh, I promise you, I promise you I will be brave——” “I know you will,” said Madame Elisabeth gently, sitting down on the sofa and drawing Lucienne down with her. “And you do not need my strength. You have plenty of your own, and you will know better how to use it by and by. Dear little one,” she went on, kissing her on the forehead, “you have made me very happy to-day, and M. de Château-Foix, he is happy too. England is not far away, and we shall know that you are in safe keeping until . . . until happier days come for France.” Lucienne hardly seemed to heed her words. She was staring straight in front of her as she leant forward with her hands clasped. “I will tell you what happened,” she said in slow, dry tones. “He was very kind to me, and he was very strong, so that it was rest to be with him.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Somehow or other I knew that it was different from anything before, and I knew that he loved me, and I was afraid. But I was almost glad to be afraid, too; for I thought that perhaps one day he might make me forget, and make me love him. And then he is so good; he spoke of Louis—of the Vicomte de Saint-Ermay—taking me to England, and I told him that the Vicomte could not leave the King, and that he must not ask him, for again I was afraid, but that was a different kind of fear. And then—and then——” She turned to the Princess. “How can I tell you? He said that M. de Saint-Ermay was involved in some political scheme, and I thought my heart would have stopped beating, for from the way he spoke I saw that it means danger—perhaps worse—to Louis. In that moment I knew that I should never be able to tell myself that all which passed in the winter had been but a girl’s fancy, for I knew—God forgive me—I knew that I loved Louis, so that I could die for him, and that whatever happened I was his altogether . . . always!” She stopped, and turned a frightened look on her companion, and then with a cry, “What have I said! what have I said!” she burst into a passion of weeping.