'Her cat, madame,--she had dyed it saffron; and she was passionately attached to it. Then, poor thing, she had nothing else to love,--no little child to hug, no sisters to confide to, her mother dead, and her father so cold and hard and dreadful.' 'Why, what was there dreadful about him? Jump up, don't kneel there.' 'Please let me remain here, dear, good queen; I used to kneel before my dear mistress and talk to her, and she would console me in my dreadful troubles.' 'Were your troubles very bad?' 'Oh, madame!' she said, wringing her hands; 'my poor father!' 'What of him?' 'Madame, he hung himself.' The queen recoiled, shocked and pained. With tenderness, she stooped over the girl, and said, 'I am sorry to have distressed you by asking that question; go on with your story about the mistress. What was she like?' 'Madame, do you mean in disposition or in appearance?' 'You have told me that she was good and kind; was she old or young, handsome or plain?' 'Oh, madame, she was like lead.' 'What do you mean, Françoise, my girl?' 'Her face was like lead,--the colour of lead, blue-grey.' 'My God! how dreadful.' 'And that was why her husband hated her, and teased her beyond endurance. Besides, he was a bad,--oh! such a wicked man.' 'Where is the poor lady now?' asked the queen. 'In the Bastille.' The queen started, and Madame Elizabeth and the Princess de Lamballe looked at one another. A cold shadow passed over the queen's face. 'Well,' she said, in an altered voice; 'what do you want now?' 'I want to get her out of that horrible prison.' 'Indeed!' 'Yes, madame, with your kind help.' 'Do not count on that.' 'But, madame, when you know all the circumstances.' 'Tell me the lady's name.' 'She is Madame Berthier de Sauvigny, wife of the Intendant of Paris.' 'Oh, indeed!' 'Come here, little girl,' said Madame Elizabeth, stepping forward; 'come with me apart and tell me the whole story, and I will talk to her majesty about it.' 'Do go, Elizabeth,' the queen said; 'but give her no hopes. Now, Madeleine, let me see your bouquets.' Whilst the queen was selecting a bunch of flowers which pleased her, Monseigneur de Narbonne approached from the house, and stood at a little distance, after having made a formal bow. 'Ah, monseigneur,' said the queen; 'do come here and choose me a bouquet. We want your opinion on their respective merits. I like this one, and Mademoiselle de Lamballe prefers that.' 'Whichever your majesty prefers is sure to be the most beautiful,' said the bishop, placing his hand on his breast and bending. 'No compliments!' exclaimed Marie Antoinette; 'I have had several paid me already by an untutored mouth,' and she nodded towards Gabrielle. 'I have a few remarks I desire to make to your majesty,' said the bishop, with another bow; 'if your majesty will allow me to make them in private?'