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62 MARIE ANTOINETTE'S TALISMAN. get an opportunity to look at their majesties, much less say a word.”

“And you, will see her to-morrow?” mur- mured the countess, taking up the fig again, and burying her still white teeth in its pulp.

Tomorrow, and the next day, if I wish. Is there any one who doubts it?”

“I certainly do not,” answered Du Barry, re- moving the fig from her mouth, and stripping away the last fragment of skin with her fingers. On the contrary, I was about to ask a favor.”

“A favor! Ah! madame knows my weakness.”

‘As you just now hinted, it would not be safe or possible for me to attempt an entrance into the chateau; but it is of great importance that I should send a message to—to her majesty.”

Her majesty! You?”

The countess waved her hand with a dash of her old impatience.

“A message which you can carry, and be sure of a kind reception, with a rouleau of gold from my hand when it is delivered. Is it understood between us, my friend?”

Dame Tillery smiled, shook her head, and repeated, “Ah! madame knows my weakness!”

“Then it is understood,” replied the countess, rising. ‘‘Pray see that Zamara is neither allowed to famish, or to expose his presence here: but first tell him to bring my traveling-desk, he will find it among the baggage. Good-day! good-day! I am sorry you are compelled to leave me so soon; but, of course, the citizens, who have been gathering around the door, will be impatient to hear about this visit to the cha- teau. I can understand that, and you describe it so well.”

These words carried Dame Tillery out of the room, quite unconscious that she had, in fact, been summarily dismissed. The moment she was gone Zamara entered, bearing a little ebony traveling-desk, which he opened and placed upon the table before his mistress.

“Madame,” he said, anxiously, “they are going; before dark they will be in Paris with the order for that man’s release.”

«But they cannot’ present it before morning; no man living can gain access to the Bastile after three o’clock. Besides, Zamara, it goes to my heart to disappoint the poor child.”

“If you do not, it will take your life,” an- swered the dwarf.

Du Barry arose and began to walk the floor. It was hard for her to go back into her old, cruel life, just as some dawnings of compassion had made her understand how sweet goodness was. But with this woman existence was every- thing—she had enjoyed it so much; and with her fine constitution had years and years to come. This man had, doubtless, become accus- tomed to his dungeon; or, if he must die, it would be a relief. If she could only save him without hurting herself, how pleasant it would be to let that poor girl depart with all her warm hopes undisturbed. But, after all, nothing like what the child expected could come to pass. She would not find her father, but an old man, weak, blind, dazed, to whom this world would be a bitter novelty. The strength of manhood never could return to her victim, though a thou- sand daughters stood ready to lavish tenderness upon him. What was a life like this compared to hers! Even if democracy did not accomplish her death, it was sure to drive her back to Eng- land, a country which was like a prison to her. No, no, she had concluded.

“Zamara.”

The dwarf approached her.

‘‘Bring the dress in which I came back from England.”

“Madame shall be obeyed.”

Order the groom to have a horse saddled.”

The dwarf bowed.

“Say to that abominable woman that I am weary, and have a headache which nothing but rest and quiet will cure; on no account must any one approach my room.”

“I will set a guard at the door, mistress.”

“That is well. Now bring the dress; it was left in your keeping.”

The dwarf went out almost smiling. He knew that his argument had prevailed over the scruples of the countess, who walked the room in a restless fashion still, but stern and setiled determination in her face.

Directly Zamara came back, carrying a heavy bundle in his arms.

“Shall I prepare to attend, madame!” he questioned, anxiously.

“No; the people would recognize you on horseback, and I must ride with speed. Follow the directions I have given, and keep guard at the door; be vigilant and cautious.”

“Does madame find it necessary to say that to Zamara?”

“Perhaps not; but there is danger here— great danger; a word, a look, might betray me. You have examined the house, and know all its entrances?”

“All; there is a back door leading to the stables. No matter bow fast it may be locked, you will find it ajar at any hour between this and to-morrow morning.”

“Always on the alert! always anticipating my orders!” said the countess, patting him on