"France has sufficient champions without you," she concluded; "and you will never regret having been the means of saving two innocent helpless women." Though she chose to gibe and be mighty indignant over Jean's defection, she never felt the smallest doubt that, the political fever past, he would return to his allegiance. She had despatched an urgent summons, and she knew that he would come; and this being so, she was inclined to be cheerful, keeping a wary eye on the conspirators. Now it was a grievous thing that her mistress should collapse, commend her soul to Heaven, await the impending stroke with the air of a sacrificial lamb. Resignation is the attribute of slaves unendowed with the holy birthright of freedom. Our natural condition is that of contest, the form of which but varies according to the thickness of the civilized veneer. He who cannot gird his loins for the fray goes to the wall, and he who has gone to the wall is a deserving object for contempt. Toinon could fight, and would, with teeth and nails if need were, and she was prepared to do battle with the conspirators whilst awaiting the advent of Jean. It behoved her to show that she was not afraid of them, and she accordingly tripped into the kitchen on the day of the maréchale's departure, and scornfully announced that, considering what wretches they all were, former precautions must be resumed. Madame would take her meals in her apartments. Toinon would carry the plateau with her own hands, and M. Bertrand would be good enough to taste of every dish under her close inspection before confiding it to her care. Vainly that worthy blew himself out and beat his chest, and gesticulated, and talked of honour. "Pooh!" scoffed the abigail, "you may spare your breath. I choose to take the precaution, though I have no dread of your attempting to poison us. A dirty cooking-plate may serve as an excuse for once. A second mistake of the sort would go hard with you, for I would have you remember that the maréchale and all her servants know the story of the cakes, and a secluded lady is not poisoned twice _by accident!_" Toinon prattled gaily of these things to the marquise, but could not succeed in raising her spirits. The latter, to please her devoted friend, summoned up a ghostly smile, which resembled moonlight on a tomb. "Fate is fate," she sighed. "For some inscrutable reason we are doomed. Madame de Lamballe first; the queen or I, who knows which of us will be the second?"