"No." The girl said it with a slight shudder. "No, I'm not. I'm--I'm--Oh, I'm Joan of Arc! You know about her, don't you, dear?" Caroline nodded. "Are you trying to escape?" she repeated, interested at last. "Yes," said the girl, "I am. But don't tell any one, will you? Don't tell that gardener, for instance." "Oh, no," Caroline assured her, "I won't tell. Wouldn't he help you?" The girl laughed, an excited, sobbing laugh. "No, he wouldn't help me at all," she said. "Come on, walk a little. He is watching us. Don't tell him about the hole, will you? Promise me faithfully." She turned and seized the child's wrist. "Can you keep a promise?" she panted. "Of course I can." "And if any one should ask you, could you--oh, _could_ you say you came in by the gate?" Caroline wriggled free. "Of course," she said scornfully. "Do you think I'm a baby?" "Don't be angry--don't," the girl pleaded. "I don't mean to frighten you--your Majesty, I mean--but I am so excited, and--and I don't quite do what I intend to do or say just what I mean. I am quite all right now. You see, that gardener--he isn't really a gardener." She watched Caroline narrowly, quite unprepared for the sudden delight in her eyes. "Oh, _he's_ pretending, too!" cried Mary of Scots joyfully. "What is he, really?" "He's--he's one of my jailers," said the girl somberly. "And the first thing he would do would be to stop up your hole under the fence." "Oh!" Caroline stared respectfully at the gardener, not far from them now. "Were you ever in chains?" she said, in an awed voice. "No," said Joan of Arc, "I never was. I wouldn't be in this--this fortress if I had to be in chains. This is for well-behaved prisoners." "Is Marie Antoinette a prisoner, too?" "Yes," said the girl, wearily, "she is. And she has kept me one. I should not be here now but for her. She prevented my escape." "The mean old thing!" Caroline cried, indignantly, "did she tell?" "She called that gardener," said the girl, "just as I was walking out of the little gate. Of course I had to walk slowly. She is very malicious--poor thing," she added quickly. They were close to a little arbor now, and not so far from the castle. Caroline could see figures here and there strolling on the upper terraces and sitting on the piazzas. The tinkle of a mandolin cut the soft air and the new-mown grass smelled sweet. "I think this castle is lovely, though, don't you, Joan of Arc?" she burst out. "It is an abominable castle," said the girl, in a muffled voice. "Abominable!" "Well, then," said Caroline, practically, "if you feel that way, you'd _better_ escape." The girl stared at her. "Tell me," she said, earnestly, "have you ever been in this place before? Where do you live?" Caroline shrugged her shoulders impishly. "I am Mary Queen of Scots," she replied, obstinately, "and I live in Scotland. Of course, I've been here before. Who are all those other people in the castle?"