“The moment I get home. Twice each week I send butter for her majesty’s own table from the dairy at _la petite Trianon_, for that was the department the queen gave me when Polignac persisted in remaining first lady of honor. Blind as a bat; had she given me her place, all the women of France would have felt it as a compliment to themselves, and drawn nearer to the court, if it were only for my sake.” “Do you think so?” inquired Marguerite, innocently, for the order of things had been so deranged in France, and she had heard so much about the power of the people, that Dame Tillery’s grand boast made a profound impression upon her. “Do I think so? Of course, I do. What is it makes the women down yonder think so much of you? Why, it is because our friend Mirabeau sent you up with that committee of women. How much greater the effect would have been had the queen chosen me for a place near her majesty’s person. Why, child, look at me! I could make three of you any day, and hold my own with the balance. Just observe this for a presence.” Here Dame Tillery shook out her dress and sailed across the room, exhibiting a person that would, indeed, have outweighed four of the slender girl who looked on. “You see,” said the self-satisfied dame, returning to her old position, “you see what a chance has been lost. This Duchess de Polignac would keep her place, and their majesties let her selfishness have its way. Then what does she do? When the king and queen get more and more unpopular; when all their friends should have stood by them like rocks, this Polignac emigrates, flies from the palace like a thief; while all France finds me at my post, making the best butter in the world for the royal table, as if nothing had happened. There is the difference, little one, between loyalty and that make-believe thing, which drove Polignac into a foreign land.” “I know that you are true to the queen,” said Marguerite, greatly impressed, yet somewhat amazed by Dame Tillery’s pretension. “Sometimes I fancy Mother Doudel does not think the less of you for that.” “Perhaps not. I think, at heart, my sister is loyal. Only she does not know the queen as I do. How should she, not being a member of the household? But you and I, little one, understand each other, we have stood side by side at court. Now tell me what it is you wish to see her majesty about.” Marguerite blushed and looked a little startled. She had promised to keep her mission a profound secret—and with this pure girl all pledges were sacred. “I love the queen.” “That is enough!” exclaimed the dame, waving her fat hand; “that is enough. I ask no more. I shall say this pretty girl is my adopted daughter, and will, sometime, be heiress of The Swan—she was with me, your majesty will remember, on that glorious day when I saved your majesty’s life. Receive her well for my sake. It will be done.”