Monsieur Jacques saw that the nerves of this poor girl were shaken with too much thought; suspense had left her almost hopeless. He sat down by her side and kindly encouraged her. During the conversation he spoke of her father by name. “When this great and good man was set free, some clue would be found to the person who had sent him there, and who had torn out so many years of his life. That person, whoever he or she was, should meet with severe punishment—the people would attend to that. For his part, to avenge the wrongs of this one man should be the object of his life.” Jacques, supposing himself alone with Marguerite, spoke in his natural voice, and with some energy. All the time that Indian dwarf lingered near the door and listened. As the conversation went on his face contracted, and his eyes gleamed—the words he gathered interested him deeply, there could be no doubt of that. After awhile Dame Tillery presented herself, ready for an excursion to the palace. The amplitude of her dress, and the gorgeous incongruity of colors with which she arrayed her person, fairly brightened the old rooms and filled them with the bustle of her presence, as she passed through into the chamber where Marguerite was sitting. “Ah, monsieur!” she said, in high good-humor, “I am glad you are ready, for we should have been greatly put about for some one to give us countenance before the king, not that it is needed, now that we are friends with her majesty, but one likes to go with a party. Besides, you were of some use. I shall take great pleasure in saying that much to their majesties, you can depend on me for that.” Monsieur Jacques looked at the woman from head to foot, half in anger, half in amusement. “Are you prepared for a visit to the palace, dame?” he inquired. “What—me? Who else should go? Did not her majesty say to her deliverers, ‘Come in the morning that the king may thank you?’” “But she spoke particularly to the demoiselle, as I understood it.” Dame Tillery turned scarlet in an instant; all her garments began to flutter ominously. She turned upon Marguerite. “Does the demoiselle, then, reject my company? Does she fancy herself able to penetrate to the presence of the queen without me, that is what I wish to know?” This terrified the girl. She turned pale and shrunk away from that angry face. “After taking her with me to that little cottage, and placing her in the way of favor; after saying what I did about her resemblance to my own precious niece, who will this day protest in heaven against such ingratitude to her poor aunt; after adopting her, as it were, into the very bosom of The Swan, she empowers this rude man to say that she alone was invited to the presence—that I am nobody. I, who flung myself headlong in the path of that infuriated cow. Oh! the ingrate—the ingrate!” Here the dame flung herself upon a chair, took out a voluminous pocket-handkerchief and applied it to her face, while heaving sobs shook her frame.