Marguerite fell upon one knee, and touched the hand reverently with her lips, then, with a gesture of exquisite humility, looked up to the beautiful face bent over her, and clasping her hands, broke forth in a voice so sweet and pathetic, that it thrilled every heart within hearing. “Oh! sweet lady! you promised to pardon my father. He has been in the Bastille since I was a little child. Only as a beautiful shadow can I remember him—but you will set him free. I shall look in the eyes which they tell me were always soft with infinite tenderness. I shall come here some day when you show yourself to the people in your carriage, or on the balcony, and together we will look upon the benefactress who has brought him back to life. Then his grateful heart will give you blessings, while I, oh, lady! I will work for you, pray for you, die for you! Indeed, indeed I will!” “My good little girl, you were very near doing that yesterday,” said the queen, taking those two quivering hands in her own, and pressing them, while her fine eyes filled with tears; “but it is the king who grants pardons. We shall soon learn if he can withhold anything from the person who was so ready to come in between his wife and a great peril.” As she spoke, Marie Antoinette gently raised the girl from her kneeling position, and led her to the king. The poor girl would have knelt at his feet also, for no homage seemed sufficient for the great boon she was asking; but Louis received her hand from that of the queen with such kindness, that the impulse of humiliation was lost. “Tell us,” he said, “all that relates to the father you would have us pardon. This is the first time that we ever heard his name, or knew of his incarceration.” Marguerite gave her father’s name, and told so much of his history as was known to herself. She spoke low and rapidly; her eyes were suffused, her voice was full of tears. The name uttered more than once, reached the queen. She was seized with a nervous dread; she seated herself; the whiteness of her face alarmed the persons who surrounded her, but before any one of her ladies could approach, Dame Tillery swept forward, opened her fan, and planting herself directly in front of the queen, commenced fanning her with both hands so vigorously that all the lace and ribbons on the royal dress fluttered as if a high wind were passing over them. The queen looked up. The consternation of her ladies at the ponderous attentions of the dame, struck her with a sense of the ridiculous so exquisite, that all the superstition which had shaken her nerves fled at once; she leaned back in her chair and laughed outright. CHAPTER XXX. TRUE WOMANLY POWER. The king, who was listening intently to Marguerite, looked toward his queen as the light, musical laugh rippled by him, and frowning a little, drew the young girl further down the room, for his interest in her story was becoming painful.