“Then it is understood,” replied the countess, rising. “Pray see that Zamara is neither allowed to famish, or to expose his presence here; but first tell him to bring my travelling-desk, he will find it among the baggage. Good-day! good-day! I am sorry you are compelled to leave me so soon; but, of course, the citizens, who have been gathering around the door, will be impatient to hear about this visit to the chateau. I can understand that, and you describe it so well.” CHAPTER XXXVI. THE DISGUISED COUNTESS. The adroit flattery of Madame Du Berry carried Dame Tillery out of the room, quite unconscious that she had, in fact, been summarily dismissed. The moment she was gone, Zamara entered, bearing a little ebony travelling-desk, which he opened and placed on the table before his mistress. “Madame,” he said, anxiously, “they are going; before dark, they will be in Paris with the order for that man’s release.” “But they cannot present it before morning; no man living can gain access to the Bastille after three o’clock. Besides, Zamara, it goes to my heart to disappoint the poor child.” “If you do not, it will cost you your life,” answered the dwarf. Du Berry arose and began to walk the floor. It was hard for her to go back into her old, cruel life, just as some dawnings of compassion had made her understand how sweet goodness was. But with this woman existence was everything—she had enjoyed it so much; and with her fine constitution had years and years to enjoy yet. This man had, doubtless, become accustomed to his dungeon; or, if he must die, it would be a relief. If she could only save him without hurting herself, how pleasant it would be to let that poor girl depart with all her warm hopes undisturbed. But, after all, nothing like what the child expected could come to pass. She need not hope to find her father, but an old man, weak, blind, dazed, to whom this world would be a bitter novelty. The strength of manhood never could return to her victim, though a thousand daughters stood ready to lavish tenderness upon him. What was a life like this compared to hers! Even if the canaille did not accomplish her death, it was sure to drive her back to England, a country which was like a prison to her. No, no, she had concluded. “Zamara.” The dwarf approached her. “Bring the dress in which I came back from England.” “Madame shall be obeyed.” “Order the groom to have a horse saddled.” The dwarf bowed. “Say to that abominable woman that I am weary, and have a headache which nothing but rest and quiet will cure; on no account must any one approach my room.” “I will guard the door, mistress.” “That is well. Now bring the dress; it was left in your keeping.” The dwarf went out almost smiling. He knew that his argument had prevailed over the scruples of the countess, who walked the room in a restless fashion still, but with stern and settled determination in her face.