The young man had no heart to leave her, and they went up the dark stair-case together. Marguerite opened a door under the roof, and led her guest into a little room with one window, neat as a flower, and tasteful as only a French girl could make it. “I was sure they would not be home,” said Marguerite, striking a light, which fell pleasantly on the muslin curtains at the window, looped up with knots of rose-colored ribbon, which shaded a plant or two in rich leafiness. “Dame Doudel will come up here the first thing—till then I hope you will wait.” The young man seated himself and looked around the room, which contained two flag-bottomed chairs, a small table, and in the furthest corner a little cot-bed, white as a cloud, and fragrant with the breath of many flowers. Directly at its foot stood a basket crowded full of bouquets ready for the market, from which a scent of heliotrope, violets, and jasmines, would have perfumed the atmosphere too heavily but for the open window, through which a soft current of air was floating. “You see that all my work was done before I went out,” said the girl, pointing to the basket. “Not a hard task, I should think,” said the young man smiling. “Hard! No one ever gives me anything hard to do. It is only play to make up these little bunches; and who would think of harming me when I go about to sell them? Dame Doudel is like a queen in the market, and she lets all the women think that I am one of them though I cannot be made to hate the king. I wish you could know how good the dame has been to me.” “But she leaves you here alone to wander about in dangerous places. Is that kind or wise, Marguerite?” “Oh! but she knows why, and is ready to help me; the dame has a heart as soft as dew.” “And have you found it safe?” “Oh yes; no one speaks to me in the street. I hold my mantle close over my face, and walk on without looking to the right or the left. Then I come to the Bastille, but find it all alone. May I ask, monsieur, what takes you there?” The man’s eyes sparkled as he answered, “I go because that mountain of ruins is the first battlefield of liberty in France. When those old towers fell, the very heart in my bosom was unchained.” Marguerite looked at him a little wildly, and her eyes filled with tears. “_Mon Dieu!_ Is it that you belong to them?” she said, dropping into the only chair her visitor did not occupy. “How can it be?” The young man instantly repented of the ardor in his speech. It seemed to him like frightening a singing bird with fire-arms, and he reassured her with a smile. “Believe me, I shall never be anything that you fear or dislike. Heaven forbid that I should bring the turmoil of the street into this quiet place!” Marguerite drew a deep breath, and wiped the tears from her eyes.