The girl paced up and down the room as she spoke; then stopped, burst into a laugh, and said: 'And what am I but a courtier of those bloodsuckers? What is my highest ambition but to draw off a little of the blood they drink, that I may riot in it myself? God have mercy on poor France! men cannot afford to be honest or women to be modest, when their honest means of subsistence is snatched from them by harpies to be flung broadcast among the profligate.' Then, reseating herself, and drawing her hand across her brow, she said, sadly: 'Why cannot I live on the work of my hands? Because prejudice and law combine to shut me out from trades in which I could honestly earn my bread. And yet I have wished to live quietly and toil for my living; but the times are against me, because society is against me. Alas, Gabrielle! what do you think is the proudest hope of a Parisian girl? Why, to become a Du Barry or a Pompadour. A man strives and denies himself to become a great judge, or a great artist, or a great philosopher, but a girl's ambition is to be mistress to a prince, a duke, or a count. It is not our fault, it is the fault of a rotten society which overwhelms some men with wealth and reduces others to beggary, and says to those who are down, your only hope of rising is by vice, all honourable avenues are shut.' Madeleine put her arm round the little peasant-girl, and added in a soft tone, 'Do not misunderstand me, my little simpleton. I am not so low as you seem to think--I have not fallen over the precipice, but my mother and the necessities of the time are forcing me nearer and nearer to it every day, and my heart recoils with fear and loathing.' She began to cry. 'Dear Gabrielle,' she continued; 'I think that perhaps with a new order of things we might look up to Heaven for help, instead of groping for crusts of bread among the ashes of hell. I do not know, but I think it might be so. Oh that a Revolution might come before the edge of the precipice is reached, and I am lost!' The poor Normande did not know how to comfort her. She thought of her father, and how ready he had been to expose her to danger, forced to it by his great need, by the slave-driver, Famine, and she asked herself what had created that famine, and the answer came, the _Ancien Régime_. She remained silent, and Madeleine, after a paroxysm of tears, recovered herself, and then returned to the subject on which she had questioned Gabrielle. 'I only showed you how hopeless it was for you to attempt anything like intercession on behalf of Madame Berthier at court. I do not advise you to take the only course open to you that promises success. Indeed, I warn you from it. But I will help you, if you like, to speak to the queen. It can be easily effected, as I am her flower-girl; only be not sanguine, I am convinced of the fruitlessness of the attempt.' 'I must make the attempt. I must, indeed.' 'Very well, then you shall.' 'Thank you, Madeleine, thank you very much.'