“Well,” said the governor, crushing the letter slowly in his hand, where he rolled it indolently between his thumb and finger, “you come to me from Madame Du Berry—a beautiful woman in her time, and in some sort a friend of mine.” “In some sort?” repeated the page, almost with a sneer. “I thought from what madame said, that she had been a most earnest and all-powerful friend to you in times when her friendship was a fortune, and her enmity ruin.” “Did she say that? Very natural. The importance of objects magnifies as they recede. It is many years since I knew the madame; and in those years she has ceased to be powerful, either in love or hate. Even her beauty, they tell me, is all gone—and in that lay the power she makes such boast of. Still I have a tender remembrance of the madame, who had a kind of loveliness that was distracting. At one time I almost adored her; as for the lady herself—Well, it would not be quite proper to state how much of her boasted kindness sprang from a more tender sentiment than she would have liked to acknowledge before the king; but I have my memories.” Here the page sprang to his feet, clenched one white hand under its frills of common lace, advanced a step, as if to dash it in that flushed face, and let it fall again with a sharp, unnatural laugh. “Another glass of wine,” he said, unclinching the hand; “these reminiscences are so pleasant they amuse me!” The governor lifted the bottle near him, and dashed a flood of the amber liquid over the white hand which held the glass, for his own was rendered a little unsteady by the sudden action of the page; who tossed off the wine with a laugh that rang mockingly through the room. “Well,” he said, “as you and the Du Berry were such intimate friends, we can talk with the more freedom. Both you and the lady are just now in imminent peril.” “Peril! How?” “Both with the king, which is not so threatening, but with the people, who are getting dangerous.” “As how? Speak out! This is the second time to-day I have been warned of the people’s hate. But the king—in what way have I offended him?” “In nothing that I know of. But occasions arise in which our best friends act, unconsciously, with our worst enemies. The king, in his goodness, works hand-in-hand with the people, who hate him and us.” “In what way?” inquired the governor, now deeply interested. “Why should his majesty do aught to imperil an old and faithful officer like me? That he should hold some malice against Du Berry is not remarkable. She was impudent enough while he was Dauphin to account for any ill-feeling he may have toward her now; but with me, who have always been a favorite, the thing is impossible.” The page still kept on his feet and walked up and down the room, forgetting all forms of politeness in his excitement. He paused at last, and flashed a glance of brilliant scorn upon the governor.