“I placed it there. It was only by the ring I remembered this man Gosner at all. It was to get that I obtained the _lettre-de-cachet_. You know how I hated her then. She scorned me so, it was natural; but when the king died how forbearing she was, how generous. No insults reached me from her; all my estates were left; she crushed me beneath the grandeur of her magnanimity. Then I repented; then I would gladly have taken that fatal serpent from her finger. I remember well what he said of its power—to every hand but his it would bring disgrace and sorrow. Without it, all these evils would fall on him. I took it from him and gave it to her. See how his prediction has turned out, Zamara—from that day to this he has languished in a dungeon; while she, who wears the ring, has seen her great popularity vanish from the hearts of the people. All the power of the throne began to crumble beneath her feet from the very hour that she mounted it.” “I have often thought of that,” said Zamara, who was now more than formerly the companion of his mistress. “When I heard that he was alive, a great terror seized upon me, for I saw danger to the queen in his release, more fearful danger to yourself. The people will know that you cast this learned man into prison without even naming his crime; they will believe that the queen kept him there through all these long years.” “When she did not even know of his existence!” exclaimed the countess. “See how just this great monster, the people, is!” “Just! It is a ferocious wild beast, with no higher reason than instinct of rage and greed—a wild beast that may easily be goaded into madness.” “And the release of this man may do it—I see that, I see that!” cried the countess. “But how to avoid the peril? The populace had almost forgotten me; this will arouse the old hatred afresh. Ah! if I had but one friend!” Poor woman! this was a mournful cry from one who had seen a whole nation at her feet; but of all that host of abject flatterers, this Indian dwarf, the creature of her bounty, the plaything of her fancy, the scoff of her former worshipers, alone stood faithful. This it was that wrung the cry from her heart. The dwarf stood near her, troubled and anxious as a dog waiting for orders. At last he drew close to her chair, a gleam of partial relief came into her face as she looked into his. “You have thought of something,” she said. “What is it, my friend?” “Mistress, this man must not come out of the Bastille.” Zamara spoke almost in a whisper, and looked warily around, as if afraid of being overheard. “But how can we prevent it?” “You know the governor?” “Yes. When he was young, I obtained for him a subordinate place in the prison,” answered the countess. “That is a pity!” “But why?” “Gratitude does not often stretch back so many years—it has neither the life or grasp of revenge. I would rather this man owed you nothing.” A low, bitter laugh broke from the countess as she replied,