“It is impossible to suppose otherwise; but sometimes the most difficult thing in the world is to redress a long-standing injustice.” Marie pressed her white hand still more caressingly on that arm, and the sweet persuasiveness of her speech was enforced by the expression of her face. “Ah, Louis! I have promised. Remember, it was your wife who was saved.” The heavy features of the king brightened; he took the white hand from his arm and kissed it tenderly. “It was only of your future safety I was thinking,” he said. “The people are so ready to clamor against us, and this will be a new excuse. But it shall be done. This day I will speak to the minister.” “To the minister, sire! Ah, no! Write it yourself. I must see this young creature made happy before she leaves the palace. Step to my cabinet, Louis, and write the order with your own hand.” She drew him gently with her while speaking, and they entered a little cabinet, or boudoir, in which the queen usually spent her hours of retirement. Drawing her husband up to the ebony desk, she gently forced him into the chair that stood before it, arranged some paper, and put the pen in his hand. “Now,” she said, leaning over his chair, and bending her cheek almost to a level with his, “now write the order, if you would not have me kneeling at your feet.” Louis dipped the pen in the crystal inkstand, which stood upon golden supporters just before him, and began to write. A sunbeam struck the single, large diamond that flamed on the handle, and quivered over the signature as it was formed. The queen smiled; it seemed to her like a good omen. “Ah!” she whispered, “how pleasant it is to make others happy; but, alas! our lives must be spent in atoning for the wrongs that were perpetrated before we were born. This poor man now was imprisoned by your grandfather.” “Worse than that,” answered Louis gravely. “This wicked act belongs to Madame Du Berry. My grandfather probably never knew of it.” “That horrible woman!” exclaimed the queen. “How much misery has she brought upon France!” The king, who had signed the pardon, laid down his pen. “Let us be merciful, my friend, even to this woman; some good there may be in her. Since the people we love so well have begun to say harsh things about us, we should be careful not to join them in reviling others. Let us bury the sins of that old man in his tomb. Our Lady forbid that we should be called upon to excuse, though it is our misfortune to answer for them.” “But this woman—oh! I remember her so well! She was my enemy! She hated me from the moment I entered France an inexperienced girl. My cheek warms even now when I remember how she was forced upon me before I could understand her position, or protect myself from her society.”