“No, I think there was nothing wrong in what I did. You are kind to bring me here; and the queen is very beautiful—a grand, noble lady.” “Beautiful! I should think so. No one but a born traitor would dispute that.” “But troubled. Oh, how troubled!” resumed the girl, as if speaking to herself. “And reason enough,” answered Dame Tillery. “Her enemies grow keener every day; as for her friends—— I never boast, Marguerite, you know that, being more modest than most women; but if half her friends had been like me, earnest and capable, this miserable tumult would end. Instead of that, half the court has slunk away from her, and St. Cloud seems more like a prison than a palace.” “It does, indeed,” sighed Marguerite. “Poor lady! Poor, wronged queen!” Here Dame Tillery heaved a portentous sigh, and taking the reins in her left hand, drew forth a huge pocket-handkerchief, and wiped her eyes. “If you feel her wrongs so much, what must they be to me, a member of her own household, and like a mother to her ever since the great empress died.” Marguerite made no answer to this pathetic appeal. She had fallen into deep thought, and was wondering how it would be possible to get back to Paris, and safely deliver the letter hidden away in her bosom. The good dame talked incessantly of her own greatness, and the influence which her devotion had secured in the royal household; but, as her companion had heard it all over and over again at least fifty times, it had no more effect on her thoughts than the rush and gurgle of a brook. All at once Marguerite started out of her reverie, and laid her hands upon the reins with which Dame Tillery was guiding her donkey. “My friend, you must not be angry, but I do so long to be in Paris, if it is only for a night. Every step we take the other way, seems to draw a drop of blood from my heart.” “What, homesick—and with me!” exclaimed the dame, drawing up her reins in blank astonishment. “If you would only go with me, your sister Doudel will be so pleased.” “Oh, yes, I dare say! Now that you have had a look at her highness, you are dying to tell all about it. Well, well! since the court left Versailles, there has not been so much custom at The Swan that its mistress cannot go away for a night, and no great harm done. So, if you have set your heart upon it, my child, we will just take the road to Paris, and give my sister a surprise. Poor soul! she has not had our privileges, and will be delighted to hear that her protegèe has been introduced into the heart of the palace.”