A woman entered, elegantly dressed, and scattering a delicate perfume from her garments as she moved. She held a small mask before her face, such as ladies sometimes carried to protect their complexions from the sun; but when the door was closed, she dropped it, and moving softly across the room, bent over the chair on which Mirabeau was sitting. He started up in surprise, stood a moment irresolute, and then broke forth, “Madame Du Berry, and here!” “So you did know me,” she said, with a gleam of pride and thankfulness that he had so readily recognized her features. “Know you?” answered the count, reaching forth his hand to grasp hers heartily, as if she had been a man. “When will the time come when Mirabeau can forget——” The woman held up her finger. “Ah, count! that was before the days of Versailles, when you were the gayest young scapegrace among the nobility, and I one of the people. I wonder if either of us are the better for having changed places.” “I was just asking myself that question,” said Mirabeau, gloomily. “After all, the greatness that springs out of a false position must ever be unsatisfactory; but tell me of yourself, fair countess. It is years since I have known much of your good or evil fortune.” Du Berry shrugged her shoulders. “The last few years I have languished in England—that cold, cruel country, where the sun never shines fairly out as it does in France. Is not that enough of misfortune? But I must not talk of myself. Of course, I did not come here simply for the pleasure of seeing you. There is a man in whom you take interest—a person who calls himself Monsieur Jacques.” “My foster-brother, and as true-hearted a man as ever drew breath; but how did he come to attract your notice, my friend?” “No matter, it is a long story; besides, it is not the man that I am so much interested in, but a young woman whom he loves.” “A young woman! You cannot mean Mademoiselle Gosner?” “Yes, that is the young person, a fair girl, whose father, I, in some sort, wronged in the days of my power. I wish to make atonement for that wrong, and cannot—she rejects it; so, in the desperation of my good intent, I come to you. My belief is that these two persons love each other.” “Love each other! What, will he persist in loving that girl?” cried Mirabeau, starting to his feet. “Does he not know that Mirabeau has honored her with his admiration?” Du Berry flung herself into the chair from which the count had risen, and burst into a fit of laughter. “An excellent reason why no honest man should think of her for himself,” she said, wiping away the quick tears of merriment that flashed down her painted cheeks. “Oh! but you are droll as ever, my friend.” “But the girl is beautiful!” “So much the more reason that your foster-brother should be desperately in love with her, as he certainly is—that is what brings me here.” “But I tell you that he will not presume——”