“Oh!” interrupted the dame, so full of vanity herself that she had no thought for that of another. “It was the little dwarf. He has grown old, and has wrinkles; but no one can forget the monkey, especially those who hated him so.” The painted woman, whose pride had plumed itself for a moment, sunk back in her chair with a heavy sigh; but continued despondency was not in her nature. She drank off a glass of the wine Dame Tillery poured out, and resumed the conversation. “It is not known that I am here, I trust. Zamara has been in the street but once, and then he was dressed like a child,” she said, anxiously. “No, the people have not yet discovered him. If they did, his life would not be worth the half of that fig.” “Do they, indeed, hate us so?” questioned the countess, really frightened. “Poor Zamara! he is the only faithful friend I ever knew. In killing him they would break my heart; but you will keep our secret?” Dame Tillery laid a broad hand on her broader bosom. “From every one but her majesty, the queen,” she said, solemnly; “from her I can keep nothing, being, as one might say, one of her council. When I go to her majesty to-morrow morning——” “To-morrow morning! Will you have access to the queen then?” “Of course,” answered the dame, “an especial interview. When we came out of the audience-chamber to-day, that little roly-poly lady, Madame Campan, followed after us, and bade me return again at the same hour to-morrow. ‘It was the queen’s order,’ she said. No doubt her majesty was disturbed by the way in which that man from the city put himself forward—I assure you his audacity was abominable. One could scarcely get an opportunity to look at their majesties, much less say a word.” “And you will see her to-morrow?” murmured the countess, taking up the fig again, and burying her still white teeth in its pulp. “To-morrow, and the next day, if I wish. Is there any one who doubts it?” “I certainly do not,” answered Du Berry, removing the fig from her mouth, and stripping away the last fragment of skin with her fingers. “On the contrary, I was about to ask a favor.” “A favor! Ah! madame knows my weakness.” “As you just now hinted, it would not be safe or possible for me to attempt an entrance into the chateau; but it is of great importance that I should send a message to—to her majesty.” “Her majesty! You?” The countess waved her hand with a dash of her old impatience. “A message which you can carry, and be sure of a kind reception, with a rouleau of gold from my hand when it is delivered. Is it understood between us, my friend?” Dame Tillery smiled, shook her head, and repeated, “Ah! madame knows my weakness!”