The stranger took off his three-cornered hat, and sighed gently as the moist air swept across his forehead. Then he moved a step forward, and seemed about to rest himself on a seat opposite the elm, against which Gosner was leaning. The old prisoner, seeing this, arose to his feet and stood before this man like a ghost; his soft, white beard sweeping to the wind, and his frightened face etherealized by the light that struggled down to it. “Forgive me; I was but resting,” he said, in the low quivering voice with which he had been accustomed to address his keeper. “The air down here was so cool; and I love the sound of dripping water—it is such company!” “Who are you, old man, and how came you here? Have you not been told that no person is permitted to enter these grounds but the household of the king?” “No one told me; but I felt that it was wrong to be so near the palace, so I came down into this dark path, quite out of the way. Is there any harm in that?” “I cannot think that harm of any kind need be apprehended from a person who speaks with such gentle humility,” answered the stranger. “But tell me, what brought you here?” “I was sent! I was sent! But for that I had not come.” “But how did you gain an entrance?” “God opened the gate for me!” “What? I do not understand.” “I was waiting on the highway, thinking that our Lady, to whom I had never ceased to pray, might, by a miracle, open some gate, through which I might pass to the palace. Well, at last the blessed Virgin answered me. A man came through a little gate which led to the gardens, and left it ajar. I crept after him holding my breath, and went in among the flowers, which covered me with perfume, which I do not like—that which comes from sleeping water, green at the top, is best—the breath of flowers is so subtle it makes me dizzy!” “But you have not given his name?” “Why should I? That is—I know—” “Well, speak out. I wish to know who it is that I find at night in the private grounds of Versailles.” “Are you a friend to the king?” A sad smile came over the stranger’s face, and he answered with feeling, “If the king has a friend, I am one!” “Then caution him—there is some harm intended him by the people of Paris.” The stranger drew a deep breath. “Ah! I understand; you speak wisely and kindly; the king shall hear of it.” “No, no! Why should he, after all? They are right, I ought not to warn this king, whose grandfather slew my youth, and turned my manhood into this!” Here the old man grasped the end of his white beard, and held it up in the moonlight. The stranger stepped back, and stood for a moment gazing with astonishment on the old man’s face. “Who is it that has wronged you so? What is your name? once more I ask it.” “The man who wronged me was Louis the Fifteenth. Once people knew me as Dr. Gosner.” “Gosner—Gosner! You were a prisoner in the Bastille?” “Oh, yes! A prisoner of the Bastille!” “Whom the present king pardoned?”