“Oh!” she said, between the acts of her little comedy, “it is not often that a woman, taken from the _canaille_, can glide gracefully into the manners of the court.” “That,” said Mirabeau, with a meaning smile, “is only reserved to women of wonderful talent.” Madame laid her white hand with a graceful motion on her heart, thus acknowledging the compliment. “Oh, count! what a charming courtier was lost when you turned patriot.” “Madame, is it not possible for a man to be a courtier, and yet love his country?” “I begin to fear not. Mirabeau, these people distrust me. That woman——” Mirabeau interrupted her with a laugh. “That woman—well, what of her? Can she forgive your arch wit, your superb beauty?” “Hush, hush!” said madame, with a touch of mournful regret. “I am no longer beautiful, and these fearful convulsions have frightened all the little wit I ever possessed out of my brain; but, through it all, I have one feeling which nothing can destroy, gratitude to the king, and that gracious lady who would not countenance insult or spoliation against a fallen woman. It might have been half counterfeit, I know; but in the season of my bitter humiliation I was spared. I say to you, Count Mirabeau, I would rather perish than see harm come to them.” “We will both perish before that shall happen!” said Mirabeau, earnestly; “but let us beware of revealing a sentiment in their favor.” “Guard yourself, my friend. They are coming,” cried madame, catching her breath. True enough, a tremendous rush of feet came down the broad stair-case, and the superbly-dressed company, that had left the table in regal splendor, came back a rabble of riotous people, carelessly dressed, reckless in demeanor, and ready to blaspheme, or assert any wild theory that came into their heads, without regard to the decencies of language, or the presence of women. Indeed, respect for the sex had long ceased to be a restraint upon men who had trodden everything pure and beautiful under the cloven hoofs of an impossible idea. Louison knew that nothing of interest to herself would be gathered from the noisy arguments these men fairly hurled at each other over the fragments of a feast that had satiated them. She was about to withdraw from her hiding-place, when she became conscious of some object crouching on the floor. It was so hidden by the tapestry, that she would have gone away unconscious of a companion in her spying, had not her foot touched the little creature whom she had seen glide from that very apartment, and conceal himself in the hall, earlier in the evening. “Imp, what are you doing here?” she whispered, grasping the shrinking creature by the arm. “Spying upon your own mistress?” The dwarf wrenched himself from her grasp, and darted from the room. CHAPTER LXXXIII. THE DOUBLE SPY.