“Think what it would be if this child should prove a bond of union between the people and the court,” said Doudel, after the two had conversed together half an hour. “The dames have great faith in her since she came home with the king’s kiss upon her forehead. She has the wish to serve her country. Keep her in it, for you can. Shall I tell you a name—the name of a person who has seen her more than once in this very room. Bend your head.” Dame Tillery bent her head, and Doudel whispered a name in her ear. “A stern Jacobin,” said the landlady, shaking her head in disapproval. “Altogether given up to those false doctrines which threaten to drag down the throne of France. But does he know who she is?” “Yes; she told him herself. Sister, I have an idea that he loves our little girl.” “Then it is high time that I take her away. She must have nothing in common with these agitators.” “Not even if it were Count Mirabeau?” “Count Mirabeau!” “He came into the assembly one day, with a flower she gave him from her basket in his bosom.” “And flung it away afterwards, as he would put her aside in a week. Sister, I know Mirabeau. When the States-General assembled at Versailles, he staid at The Swan. I liked him then, but afterwards, when I took my place at court—not that I wish to boast, sister—it came to me that her majesty, the queen, hated this man, and would not endure him in her sight. So, if you hope for any preferment for our child, keep aloof from Mirabeau.” “The poor child wants no preferment. We can take care of her, Madame Gosner and myself. She is given up to France, I look to the girl. I have not set in the market so many years for nothing; and you have no children.” “That is true—that is true! But this Mirabeau is a dangerous man. The girl is safer with me just now.” “But you will let her come back again?” “Will I? Of course, sister. Exaltation, you will find, has not hardened my heart. But just now you must not stand in the way of her advancement.” With these sisterly feelings and amiable words the two women decided that Marguerite should go to Versailles for a time; thus unconsciously aiding in the important mission with which she was charged. CHAPTER LXXXIX. MARGUERITE SEEKS THE QUEEN. Slowly and sadly Marie Antoinette walked up and down one of the most secluded avenues in the Park at St. Cloud. Not yet forty years of age, in fact, lacking some years of that, she was beginning to look worn and anxious. The brightness of her smile was gone, and in its place came a mournful tremor of the lips, which sometimes betrayed a stern resolution, not always just, and seldom wise, which sometimes locked her sweet mouth as with iron. With all the ability of Maria Theresa, her august mother, she had neither the experience, the cool patience, or indomitable perseverance of that great and most womanly sovereign.