The guard turned his eyes from the kneeling girl to his wife, and thoughtfully stroked his beard with one hand. Marguerite held the other prisoner. “Sometimes,” he said, slowly, “the children of the guards come to the prison and are let in to the outer court. More seldom I have seen them within the draw-bridge. Mademoiselle is so young, and like a child, they might think her my own daughter; no one there will remember that she has gone away from us forever. It is dangerous, but possible.” “Wait, wait a minute, while I think,” said the wife, answering her husband’s train of thought. “This is what we will do. The governor trusts you, Gaston; he will give you privileges.” “But not that, not that.” “I know; but he may take an interest in this good child, thinking her your daughter. She shall take her flowers to him, make him used to her, as she passes in and out of his quarters; then some day she can watch her opportunity and steal with you into the lower prison.” “But this will take time, dame, and may get me into trouble in the end.” “No, no, I will be cautious; no one shall know. I will die rather than bring harm on you,” exclaimed the girl, who had been listening eagerly to his words. “Let me once look on my father’s face, and I will bless you forever and ever.” “It is dangerous, and may cost me dear; but who can say no to a child who only prays to look on her father?” “He consents, he consents!” cried Marguerite, flinging up her clasped hands in an ecstacy of delight. “But it must be a secret with us; no human being must be told; a breath would destroy us both,” answered the guard, half-frightened by the promise he had made. “She can be dumb. The child who has such courage knows how to keep a secret,” answered the dame. “To-morrow, she shall try her fate with the governor.” “That will not be hard,” said the guard, with a grave smile; “he loves to have plenty of flowers in the dim rooms of that old fortress, which need them enough, and never is severe upon a pretty face. We shall manage it—we shall manage it.” Dame Doudel kissed her husband with the ardor of a sweetheart. “Ah, you have courage! I knew it, I knew it. Come now, little one, let us finish the flowers. Your very first attempt shall be at the Bastille.” Margaret went to her work in an ecstacy of delight; her eyes were on fire, and her hands quivered like young birds over their work. She had never known what real hope was before. Marguerite lay by her mother’s side all that night, wide awake, and restless with thought. On the morrow, the great task of her life was to begin. What her mother in her experience and strength had failed to accomplish, she must undertake, and in her very weakness carry out. Very early in the morning, the young girl arose, and, after preparing the breakfast she had no wish to eat, went forth into the street with Dame Doudel’s blessing on her head, and a basket of blooming flowers on her arm.