“Never fear, the man will have forgotten it.” “Then our task is easier. I do not know how it is to be done. Give me a little time for thought. Will it be possible to keep this young girl here till morning?” “Not of her own free will, if she has her father’s pardon, as you say, in her bosom. I have never seen so much happiness in a human face. She is very lovely. Ah! it is a terrible thing to break up all this joy!” “But more terrible to be driven to a strange land, or torn by a mob,” answered Zamara. “I know—I know. Oh! why did I not let this poor man alone! He would have done me no harm. Now, I think of it, the girl looks like her father; his face was almost as fair as hers, his eyes of the same tender blue. It is strange how clearly I remember them—and she is so happy?” There was irresolution in the woman’s words, and in her heart. Disappointment, trouble, and ingratitude, had broken down her arrogance and humanized her conscience. She felt a yearning desire to protect this young girl in her happiness, and give her wronged father back to his life. Zamara saw all this, and trembled. He understood better than she did the danger that lay before them. CHAPTER XXXV. DAME TILLERY DINES WITH THE COUNTESS DU BERRY. Before the dwarf could urge the conversation further, Dame Tillery came into the room, followed by a maid-servant, who carried a tray, on which were some delicate trifles, and a plate of fresh figs, for madame’s dessert. The good dame burst into a torrent of exclamations when she found that the first courses of her dinner were untouched, and became pathetic in her entreaties that madame would just taste the fresh fruit, and delicate cakes, which were to have been the crowning glory of her meal. The countess consented to taste the fruit, but only on condition that Dame Tillery should, in the meantime, help dispose of the viands which had been so long neglected. Dame Tillery was not so elated by her reception at the palace as to lose any portion of her fine appetite. “It was a shame,” she said, “to allow this delicious pâte, and that lovely pullet, without mentioning the delicate salad, to be taken back ignominiously to the kitchen. They might be a little cold; but, even then, any one must understand that a cold dinner at the Swan was worth a dozen hot ones at any other public house in Versailles. She would just cut a slice from the breast of the pullet; perhaps seeing her eat would give madame an appetite.” Here Dame Tillery put away her outer garments, set her fan in a corner, and drawing a chair to the table, buried it under the amplitude of her skirts, while she squared her elbows and carved the pullet with professional dexterity, stopping now and then to nibble a dainty bit from her fork.