“Your Majesty knows that he is a suitor for the hand of Mademoiselle de Villars. He hoped doubtless that if he could get the papers he might—” I hesitated. It was an ugly word to say, yet the Marquis du Trémigon had shown himself to me in his true colors, and I knew there was no knavery he would stop at. “He hoped to influence you, and, through you, Mademoiselle. By the terms of her father’s will she must consent willingly to the marriage, else the contract is void.” “You seem to know a great deal about the affairs of Mademoiselle, Monsieur.” “I intend, with your permission, Madame, to know everything about them in the future.” The Queen smiled. “He is droll, this cavalier. He speaks like a Frenchman, and wooes like an American.” “Have I your permission, Madame?” asked Mademoiselle. “Certainly, my dear.” “It was the Marquis du Trémigon who betrayed us last night,” she said, turning to me. “Another score to be settled between us,” I said under my breath. “He has a creature in his pay in my grandfather’s house, and through him he learned my plan. He laid a very clever trap. Although he could have stopped me at any time, he allowed us to go on, that we might be caught in the act. Now he hopes to win my grandfather’s consent to this marriage, and perhaps by that means force it upon me.” “You shall never marry him,” I said, utterly oblivious of everything, everybody, except Mademoiselle and that fact. “And why not, pray, Monsieur?” asked the Queen. “Because, Your Majesty, I shall marry her myself.” “Indeed!” “The word of a gentleman, Madame,” I said. “But are you a gentleman?” asked Marie Antoinette. There was an accent of raillery in her voice that robbed the question of its sting. “One day you masquerade as a sailor. The next day you enter Mademoiselle’s apartments”—she knew all, then!—“as a thief. Today you stand before me as a criminal.” “I plead guilty to every charge, Madame. I am a sailor, I am a thief. Last night I would have stolen——” “What, Monsieur?” “Mademoiselle.” “From her grandfather?” “From the throne itself, Your Majesty,” I replied fervently. Again the Queen smiled. “Enough, Monsieur,” she said, rising; “I have exerted myself in your favor. I had an order from the King to bring you here. I have requested the Duc de Rivau-Huet to consign Mademoiselle to my care. I wished to thank you for the service you have done me—to ask you to wear this in memory of my gratitude.” She drew a rarely beautiful diamond ring from her finger and extended it to me. I kissed the hand and slipped the ring upon my little finger. “Your Majesty overwhelms me,” I said. “The reward scarcely equals your merit, Monsieur, and it does not even approach your assurance.” “Mademoiselle would make a craven bold, Madame.” “Doubtless,” said the Queen. “And now we have the honor to wish you a safe return to America.”