She thought that she was standing again in the gorgeous gallery at Versailles that looked out on to the terrace; she thought that she was again powdered, perfumed, and clad in rose-coloured velvet and wearing on her breast diamonds that would have bought bread for all the starving people in France. And across the shining floor came the young Austrian, her immature figure glittering in jewelled brocade and tense with the effort she was making. “Madame,” she said in a stifled voice, “there are a number of people at Versailles to-day—” Then her voice broke, her breast heaved, she flushed crimson and hurried away, bursting into tears. Madame du Barry thought that she was following her, saying– “Do not be distressed, Madame. I am sorry they have made you speak to me. I shall not do you any harm.” But the Princess would not turn, but hastened along the gleaming floor. She woke with a start and a horrid leap of her heart; the room was quite dark but cut by the yellow light coming through the open door; she could see the shape of a man looking in. “Six o’clock to-morrow, citizeness,” he said in a tired voice, and closed the door. She tried to concentrate her mind on what he had said. What was it that was to happen at six o’clock to-morrow? She was quite ignorant of the rules and customs of the prison. Perhaps it meant that she was to be set free in the morning, or taken to a better apartment, or put on her trial–or perhaps it was merely the hour at which he would rouse her and bring her food. Fatigue overwhelmed her again; she fell into a heavy sleep, this time dreamless. When she woke the darkness was faintly filled with the glimmer of dawn; she rose, stiff and giddy, and put up her hair with such pins as she could find scattered on the bed. Mechanically she pulled her coat and gown, her fichu and ruffles into place. The exquisite habits of years of luxurious living asserted themselves without any prompting of the brain, as her beauty, that neither dissipation nor indolence could mar, asserted itself even now, when she was for perhaps the first time in her life unconscious of it. She felt very feeble, and her head was aching slightly with a dull pain in the temples. She would not go to the window because of the remembrance of the stained courtyard. The room was very cold, yet close and foul; she wondered who had been confined here before, and whether they had been released or— She heard doors opening and shutting down the corridor, footsteps and the jangle of keys. Her own door opened and the jailer appeared, holding a lantern. He made a gesture for her to pass out; she rose stiffly. “What is this? Where am I to go? Am I to have no food? I could not eat what you brought last night.” The man seized her arm and pushed her out into the corridor, then went on to the next door.