MARIE ANTOINETTE'S TALISMAN. 217
in Versailles to grant a request from the Countess }
Da Barry.”
“But you have courage for anything.”
“Not for that. When the Queen of France selects a favorite from the people, she expects discretion—and thut she shall find with Dame Tillery.”
«But you have already introduced a stranger —that young girl.” |
“Ah! but that is another matter; the differ- ° ence here is that Madame Du Barry is not a ; stranger.”
Du Barry almost laughed at the blunt frank- ness of this speech.
“Well, well,” she said, “if you will have nothing to do with me, I cannot help it; but you have lost a rouleau of gold which I had } already counted out.”
Dame Tillery had evidently forgotten the gold, § or she might not have been in such haste to assert her determination. Her countenance } fell; her fat fingers worked nervously in the ; folds of her dress.
Well,” she said, ‘tell me what the message }
is and I will decide—everything depends on
that.”
A mischievous smile quivered around Du }
Barry's mouth, and mischief twinkled in her
eyes.
“No,” she said, “I will not embarrass you; ¢ perhaps I shall myself go to the chateau.”
“What, you?”
“Possibly. At any rate, I will bring no one else into disrepute.’’
Dame Tillery was crestfallen enough. She had expected to be argued with and implored, but found herself utterly put aside.
“But I did not mean to be altogether un- ; accommodating. It was the slight you put upon } my room that aggravated me. There is not a} more obliging woman in the world than Dame } Tillery, if she is a little restive at times. So, if your message is a safe one os
Du Barry rose to her elbow, and with her still fine hair falling around her shoulders, drew a ponderous gold watch, flaming with pearls, from ; under her pillow. 3
“It is getting late,” she said. ‘You will ; have scarcely ttme to prepare; as for me, talking makes my head ache.”
Dame Tillery arose, feeling the poorer by a rouleau of gold. $
“Madame has had no breakfast,” she said, ; still lingering. {
“Not a morsel,” murmured Du Barry, closing | her eyes with an appearance of disgust. “I : shall not cat a morsel to-day.” ;
“But, shall I send nothing?”
‘‘On the contrary, I must have profound rest. No one but Zamara need approach me. He will understand if I want anything.”
Dame Tillery went out, feeling herself put down; but she had no time to dwell on her dis- appointment. The breakfast of that dashing page had not yet been served, and the time was fast approaching when she was to appear at the royal chateau. She hurried down to her kitchen, saw*that the stranger’s meal was in reasonable forwardness, and then gave herself up to the mysteries of a most wonderful toilet, in which she appeared an hour after, armed with her fan,
{and rustling like a forest-tree in October.
The dame joined her latest guest at the table,
with his hair freshly curled, his laces spotless
as gossamer, and the ribbons on his dress flut-
tering airily.
“Ah! but this is magnificent!” he said, with an affected lisp. ‘Who shall say after this it is the nobility alone that understand what is
‘ befitting the presence of royalty? Under such
protection I shall be sure of success.”
Dame Tillery had found such unthought of ruccess in her last protege that she was em- boldened to test her fortune again. and, being a woman, was particularly pleased that this time her companion would be a handsome and dash- ing fellow, who would not feel abashed by anything he might see at the palace.
«You are in haste, I see,” observed the page, helping himself to the nearest dish; ‘but this omelet is delicious, and I must detain you for - another plate.”
“Take your time; take plenty of time,” an- swered the dame, charmed that he should have praised the dish she had herself prepared; ‘it will be half an hour before her majesty can be kept waiting, so there is no especial haste; still it is always well to be ready.”
The page finished his omelet, shook off a crumb of two of bread that had fallen among his ribbons, and arose.
“Pray, my good dame, glance your eyes over my person, that I may be sure that all is right,” he said, pluming himself like a bird. ‘It seems to me that this love-lock might be brought forward the fraction of an inch with good effect. Pray let me have your judgment on the matter.”
Dame Tillery took the glossy curl between her fat thumb and finger, laid it very daintily a little forward on the shoulder, and stood back with her head on one side to mark the effect.
“That is perfect,” she said, “The Duke De Richelieu’s love-lock fell just in that way when he presented us yesterday. He is a handsome
