Nothing could be more courtly than the manner of the page as he drooped his hat, and bent his perfumed head low before the queen. “You have some message? You would speak with us?” she said, with that gentle grace in which she was surpassed by no queen in Europe. “Your highness, may I crave an especial indulgence, and ask that my message may be given to your majesty alone?” The queen looked at her strange visitor searchingly a moment, then waved her hand; at which Madame Campan drew discreetly out of ear-shot, after giving Dame Tillery the signal that she was expected to withdraw. “Now,” said the queen, “what is the message you bring, and from whom?” She lifted her hand as she spoke, from which the glove had been withdrawn, and among the jewels that blazed on the slender fingers was the serpent holding that scarabee in its folds. Marie Antoinette saw that the face she looked upon was turning coldly pale; this agitation disturbed her a little, and she drew a step back, watching it keenly. “I come,” said the page at length, recovering from what seemed to have been a sudden shock, “I come from one who wishes to be a friend to the Queen of France, and who may have some power to aid her; but at present I am forbidden to reveal the name.” “This is a strange message,” said the queen. “Not strange, unless gratitude is unusual,” answered the page, with profound respect. “This person has once received great kindness and much undeserved forbearance from the King and Queen of France, and she would gladly prove, in some way, that the favors so royally conferred have not been thrown away.” A faint and almost bitter smile curled the lips of the queen. “This is, indeed, a stranger thing than I dreamed of. Does some one offer the king help out of simple gratitude?” “Out of simple gratitude, nothing more. Nay, so anxious is the lady——” “Then your principal is a lady,” cried the queen, interrupting him, “and one who has been the recipient of royal favors, too; this is more and more remarkable. Well, what is it that she wishes?” “Only this, your highness; through the royal munificence this lady has become rich.” The queen lifted her hand while she seemed to reflect; but after a little she shook her head. “There have been so many such, that I fail to guess at your mistress from the number: but out of them all she seems to be foremost in finding a memory for thanks.” “My mistress would do more. She has heard—it may not be true—but she has heard that in these disturbed times the royal exchequer is often in want of money. She has some to spare, that is, to give back, if it will help the king to struggle through the difficulties that beset the throne.” Marie Antoinette drew herself up as the object of this speech dawned upon her; but the color gradually grew fainter on her face, and a flush, as of hardly suppressed tears, came about her eyes when the page ceased speaking, and with downcast look awaited her answer.