Pauline read, and re-read the letter, and each time she did so, the colour came and went in her cheek, and at every sentence she raised her large dark eyes to the Queen, as if inquiring what could be done for him. Each of the Queen's ladies was silent for a time, and then each proposed some plan, which was quickly discussed and rejected, as either too dangerous, or totally impracticable. One proposed to bribe the Governor of the Bastille to convey a letter to De Blenau, but that was soon rejected: another proposed to send Laporte, the Queen's valet de chambre, to try and gain admittance; but Laporte had once been confined there himself, and was well known to all the officers of the prison: and another mentioned Seguin, Anne of Austria's surgeon; but he also was not only too well known, but it appeared, from what De Blenau had informed the Queen of his conference with Richelieu, that the very words of the message which had been sent by him on the night of the young Count's rencontre with the robbers, had been communicated to the Cardinal; and the whole party forgot that Louise, the _soubrette_, had been present when it was delivered. In the mean while, Pauline remained profoundly silent, occupied by many a bitter reflection, while a thousand confused schemes flitted across her mind, like bubbles floating on a stream, and breaking as soon as they were looked upon. At length, however, she started, as if some more feasible plan presented itself to her thoughts----"I will go!" exclaimed she,--"Please your Majesty, I will go." "You, Pauline!" said the Queen, "you, my poor girl! You know not the difficulties of such an undertaking. What say you, Madame de Beaumont?" "That I am pleased, Madam, to see my child show forth the spirit of her race," replied the Marchioness. "Nor do I doubt of her success; for sure I am Pauline would not propose a project which had no good foundation." "Then say how you intend to manage it," said the Queen, with little faith in the practicability of Pauline's proposal. "I doubt me much, my sweet girl, they will never let you into the Bastille. Their hearts are as hard as the stones of the prison that they keep, and they will give you no ingress for love of your bright eyes." "I do not intend to make that a plea," replied Pauline, smiling in youthful confidence; "but I will borrow one of my maid's dresses, and doubtless shall look as like a _soubrette_ as any one. Claude directs us, here, to ask at the gate for Philip the woodman of Mantes. Now he will most likely be able to procure me admission; and if not, I can but give the message to him and be sent away again."