And if this star-bright Etoile was taught to believe herself a princess, she was the no less instructed to consider her position a high and holy trust for the welfare and happiness of those soon to be dependent on her. Nor were these instructions so very far from the truth as at first view they might appear. For, if this lovely girl were not indeed the princess, she was certainly the _heiress_, and would be the _absolute mistress_ of the Island and of the people upon it, over whom she would possess more than a queen’s power, and for whom she would also feel more than a queen’s responsibility. And so the young creature felt it. No selfish, thoughtless, childish exactions, ever embittered the unvarying sweetness of her manners to “those who labored in her fields, or waited in her halls.” No harsh tone ever jarred the harmony of her voice in speaking to them. No dark frown ever clouded the brightness of her face in looking upon them. And just as surely nothing but smiles and blessings and devoted service were hers, from those affectionate creatures. Madame was anxious to disabuse the growing girl of her royal imaginations; but Monsieur was resolved to preserve her proud and beautiful illusions. And the only occasion upon which Monsieur was ever known to give way to furious passion, was one morning when he happened to overhear Madame inform Etoile that, so far from being a princess, she was only a miserable little beggar, dependent upon the bounty and caprices of her grandfather, who, far from being a king, was only a wretched old lunatic. Upon hearing this, Monsieur Henri burst like a storm into the room, and striking his heavy cane upon the floor, roared forth in a voice of thunder: “WOMAN!! I have borne much from your ingratitude and deception! But dare again to doubt the royal descent of your princess, and you shall pay for your treason with your HEAD!!” There was an awful pause. “MADAME! do you hear?” thundered the old infuriate. Madame _did_ hear, and turned whiter than the handkerchief that she pressed to her bloodless lips, while her eyes dilated with terror until a white circle flared around their black balls. But she was past the power of speech, and could only gaze panic-stricken after the old man, as he haughtily strode from the room. “Oh-h-h! Mon Dieu, what a situation!” exclaimed Madame, when she had recovered her breath—“the old beast! the old madman! the horrible old ogre! Bon Dieu! what bewitched me to come here and put myself in his power! Grand Dieu! and I am out of the reach of human help! Oh Ciel! if he should take it into his crazy brain that I am plotting, he would—off with my head in the twinkling of an eye! Don’t I know he would? And this yellow demon of a Louis, who never gainsays him, whether he claims to be king or pope, would do it for him! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! what is to become of a poor woman, whom her evil fate has committed to the care of a furious madman!”