“I do trust in you, and I thank you for myself and for the king. Nay, in time the people of France will look upon you as their saviour also. But what can we offer in return?” A flush of hot red came into Mirabeau’s face. He remembered thoughts that had clung to him as he rode along—terms he had intended to make, and advantages that would relieve the necessities that were ever following the lavish extravagance of his habits. All these he had absolutely forgotten; and when the queen, in her gratitude, brought them back to his memory, all the pride of his manhood recoiled. Why was he forced to be so grand, and so mean at the same moment? He cast his eyes on the ground, while the swarthy color surged in and out of his face. At last he looked up so suddenly that the thick locks were tossed back from his forehead, like the play of a lion’s mane. “Nothing,” he said, with the proud air of a Roman Senator. “When we have saved France and her king, the consciousness that Mirabeau has done it for Marie Antoinette, will sometimes win a smile from her, and that shall be his reward.” The queen was greatly moved. She had seen the struggle in his mind, and partially understood it. The same thoughts had occupied her before leaving the palace. She had heard of Mirabeau’s extravagance, and of his proportionate greed. It had seemed to her an easy thing to purchase his help with gold, which, in the terrible difficulties that had fallen upon her, she had learned how to use as a sure political agent. But there was more in the man than she had been led to believe; and the hot flush of shame that rose to his face, when she spoke of reward, made her shrink from what might seem an offered insult. “Those who help the king are the king’s friends always,” she said, with deep feeling, for this strange man had won his way to her gratitude. “But those who help us must have the means of helping.” Again Mirabeau’s face flushed; but it was with pleasure that the queen had found an excuse for accepting some future bounty which had escaped him. “One thing,” he said, with touching earnestness, “one thing there is which Mirabeau may accept from the Queen of France, and be exalted by the favor.” “Name it,” answered Marie Antoinette, gently. “Favored courtiers are permitted to kiss the queen’s hand when they give their lives to her service.” The queen smiled, blushed, and reached forth her hand. Mirabeau took it, bent his knee to the ground, and pressed his lips upon it. “Madame,” he said, standing erect, with the hand in his clasp, “madame, the monarchy is saved.” “God grant it!” said the queen, with solemn emphasis. “The monarchy is saved, or Mirabeau’s life will pay the forfeit,” he repeated, with solemnity.