Louison’s outstretched arms fell to her side. She was not convinced; but this evidence coming from the market, baffled her. She looked around on the crowd of faces uplifted toward her, some were angry, some drawn with sneers; but most were laughing at her defeat, in careless good-humor. The stout woman who had, in fact, been one of a committee to wait on the king that day at Versailles, swung herself down from the stall on which she sat, and began to arrange her vegetables in high good-humor. Another, as she held up a splendid fish for the inspection of a customer, asked Louison if she thought that fine fellow was an aristocrat, too; and shook her sides with laughter when a sharp glance, but no answer, came in reply. In less than ten minutes the excited throng around Dame Doudel’s stall had dispersed, and the whole market was given up to business, made a little brisker by the time that had been lost. CHAPTER LXXXV. MIRABEAU BUYS FLOWERS. The crowd settled back, chaffering for fish, sorting out vegetables, and running up accounts, while the business of the day went on, and Louison Brisot made an ignominious retreat, for the first time, from the people she had almost ruled by her eloquence and fierce beauty; for those market women had become almost men in their tastes, and looked upon youth and beauty with the admiration of another sex. A few of Dame Doudel’s nearest neighbors hovered around the fainting girl; but Louison had disappeared from the market before Marguerite came to herself. The moment she opened her eyes, these warm-hearted women began to encourage and console her. What had she to fear? Why did she faint? Was it because of Louison Brisot? That was foolish—no one minded Louison now. Since it was known that Mirabeau had put her aside, when a proper person was wanted to lay their troubles before the king, she had been of little account. The market women were wives and mothers, honest women, who wanted to earn bread for their children in an honest way; and Mirabeau knew best how they should be represented. If he had wanted Louison Brisot, or Theroigne, to lead them, would he not have said so? But he did nothing of the kind. “Take this young girl,” he said; “you go to entreat the king, not to insult him. Liberty is grand, it is pure; when she pleads, it should be through innocent lips.” That was what our Mirabeau said—and he was right. “You have spoken for us, little one, and we will let no one wrong you, much less Louison.” “You are kind, I feel your goodness here,” said the poor girl, pressing a hand to her heart, which was still heavy with pain. “I only wish it possible to deserve the trust you place in me.”