“You mean that Dr. Gosner, with the ring?” “Yes; that is the man.” “Well, what of him? He was sent to the Bastille; I remember it all. It seems to me that I intended to let him out; but the king died, and then all my power for good or harm ended. Of course, there was no one to intercede for him. The Bastille makes quick work with its inmates. Of course, he died.” “No, my mistress, he still lives; and the young girl you saw yonder with Dame Tillery has his release in her bosom. To-morrow he will be the lion of Paris. All France will know that a word of yours took this man from his family, and shut him up in a dungeon deep below the sewers of the street, where his best companions have been toads and creeping things from which human nature revolts. In this dungeon a good man, a learned man, has grown old in misery. He will come forth with hair like the drifted snow, weak and tottering, perhaps imbecile; and the people, who hate you, will cry out, ‘This is the work of that monster, Du Berry. She kills souls! She had no mercy! She——’” The countess uttered an impatient cry, and clapped both hands to her ears. “Stop, Zamara—stop, if you have not resolved to kill me. All that was so long ago, I had almost forgotten it. Can men live forever under ground?” “Not often; but some lives defy nature, and all that outrages it. Another man has spent half a lifetime in those hideous vaults, and came out at last to exasperate the people. This will complete their frenzy. Gosner will appear in the clubs, in the marketplaces, everywhere. His white hair will madden the people like a hostile banner; his own lips will tell the story of his wrongs. This will draw tears from the women, clamors of rage from the men. They will demand the author of this cruelty, and he will pronounce your name.” Madame shrunk back in her chair, white and craven with fear; the dwarf had drawn his picture with terrible force. Shuddering, she acknowledged its truth, and cried out, “What can I do, Zamara? How can all these horrors be averted? They know that I am in France. I cannot leave; I cannot exist in that horrible England. Oh! why will all one’s little errors keep upon the track so long? I had forgotten this but for the ring—you remember the ring, Zamara?” “Yes, my mistress. It was only to-day that I saw it coiling around the queen’s finger. They tell me it never leaves her hand.”