“Perhaps, Monsieur, you have sufficiently recovered now to approach more nearly the throne,” she said, pleased at my compliment. She extended her hand to me. I got to my feet, knelt again before her and kissed it. Queens are always beautiful, but I swear I would rather have kissed Mademoiselle’s hand at any hour. However, I reflected that the honor of America was in a measure committed to me, and I think I bore myself worthily. “Rise, Monsieur,” said the Queen graciously; “the Comtesse de Villars”—I suppose it is bad manners to look at one woman when another woman is speaking to you, especially if that woman be of royal blood, but I could not help turning my head at her words. There stood Mademoiselle more beautiful than ever. Indeed, I have observed that she always looks better the more beautiful her background, and Marie Antoinette might be Queen of France, but she was only a background to Mademoiselle that morning. “Mademoiselle de Villars tells me that you have rendered me a great service.” “If to love Mademoiselle de Villars,” I began, “with all my heart and soul, be to render Your Majesty a service——” “Nay, nay, not that way. I fear you would fain rob me of my fairest maid of honor.” “It ill becomes a gentleman to contradict a lady,” I replied quickly. Again the Queen laughed. I was lucky evidently. “What I meant, Monsieur, was that Mademoiselle de Villars tells me that you saved her from assault, capture, I know not what, on the highroad some ten days ago.” “Your Majesty, I had that good fortune.” “Mademoiselle de Villars was on my errand. There were papers I did not care to intrust to any save the most intimate hand, which she was bringing back to me.” “I perfectly understand, Your Majesty.” “I will not disguise the fact that had these papers fallen into the possession of an enemy——” “The Marquis du Trémigon?” I interrupted. “Du Trémigon?” cried Mademoiselle. “Why he, Monsieur?” asked the Queen. “It was he who instigated the assault upon Mademoiselle, I am convinced.” “How know you this?” “One of the ruffians who menaced the lady was one-eyed. He wore a patch over his face. I was lucky enough to break his wrist with my cudgel.” “A strange weapon for a gentleman,” said Her Majesty. “It is honored above my sword, in that it hath served Mademoiselle,” I answered. “You have a French twist to your tongue,” said the Queen. “Proceed.” “I recognized the man in the Marquis du Trémigon’s following last night, Your Majesty.” “I know whom he means, Madame; I saw him, too,” said Mademoiselle. “I heard Monsieur du Trémigon call him Babin. Strange to say, I did not recognize him before.” “That agrees perfectly with my recollection, Madame. I remember that the man who ran away that day on the road called him by that name.” “And you think the Marquis du Trémigon wanted these papers?” continued the Queen. “I am sure of it, Madame.” “But why?”