“Not for that. When the Queen of France selects a favorite from the people, she expects discretion—and that she shall find with Dame Tillery.” “But you have already introduced a stranger—that young girl.” “Ah! but that is another matter; the difference here is that Madame Du Berry is not a stranger.” Du Berry almost laughed at the blunt frankness of this speech. “Well, well,” she said, “if you will have nothing to do with me, I cannot help it; but you have lost a rouleau of gold which I had already counted out.” Dame Tillery had evidently forgotten the gold, or she might not have been in such haste to assert her determination. Her countenance fell; her fat fingers worked nervously in the folds of her dress. “Well,” she said, “tell me what the message is and I will decide—everything depends on that.” A mischievous smile quivered around Du Berry’s mouth, and amusement twinkled in her eyes. “No,” she said, “I will not embarrass you; perhaps I shall myself go to the chateau.” “What, you?” “Possibly. At any rate, I will bring no one else into disrepute.” Dame Tillery was crestfallen enough. She had expected to be argued with and implored, but found herself utterly put aside. “But I did not mean to be altogether unaccommodating. It was the slight you put upon my room that aggravated me. There is not a more obliging woman in the world than Dame Tillery, if she is a little restive at times. So, if your message is a safe one——” Du Berry rose to her elbow, and with her still fine hair falling around her shoulders, drew a ponderous gold watch, flaming with jewels, from under her pillow. “It is getting late,” she said. “You will have scarcely time to prepare; as for me, talking makes my head ache.” Dame Tillery arose, feeling the poorer by a rouleau of gold. “Madame has had no breakfast,” she said, still lingering. “Not a morsel,” murmured Du Berry, closing her eyes with an appearance of disgust. “I shall not eat a mouthful to-day.” “But, shall I send nothing?” “On the contrary, I must have profound rest. No one but Zamara need approach me. He will understand if I want anything.” Dame Tillery went out, feeling herself put down; but she had no time to dwell on her disappointment. The breakfast of that dashing page had not yet been served, and the time was fast approaching when she was to appear at the royal chateau. She hurried down to her kitchen, saw that the stranger’s meal was in reasonable forwardness, and then gave herself up to the mysteries of a most wonderful toilet, in which she appeared an hour after, armed with her fan, and rustling like a forest-tree in October. The dame joined her latest guest, who seated himself at the table, with his hair freshly curled, his laces spotless as gossamer, and the ribbons on his dress fluttering airily.