60 MARIE ANTOINETTE'S TALISMAN.
guished in a dungeon; while she, who wears
the ring, has seen her great popularity vanish
from the hearts of the people, and all the power
of the throne began to crumble beneath her feet
from the very hour that she mounted it."
"I have often thought of that," said Zamara, who was now more than formerly the companion of his mistress. "When I heard that he was alive, a great terror seized upon me, for I saw great danger to the queen in his release, greater danger to yourself. The people will know that you cast this learned man into prison without even naming his crime; they will believe that the queen kept him there through all these long years."
When she did not even know of his existence!" exclaimed the countess. "See how just this great monster, the people, is!"
"Just! It is a ferocious wild beast, with no higher reason than the instinct of rage and greed- a wild beast that may easily be goaded into madness."
"And the release of this man may do it- I see that, I see that!" cried the countess. "But how to avoid the peril? The populace had almost forgotten me; this will arouse the old hatred afresh. Ah! if I had but one friend!"
Poor woman! this was a mournful cry from one who had seen a whole nation at her feet; but of all that host of abject flatterers, this In- dian dwarf, the creature of her bounty, the plaything of her fancy, the scoff of her former worshipers, alone stood faithful to the end. This it was that wrung the cry from her heart.
The dwarf stood near her, troubled and anxious as a dog waiting for orders. At last he drew close to her chair, a gleam of partial relief came into her face as she looked into his.
"You have thought of something," she said. "What is it, my friend?"
"Mistress, this man must not come out of the Bastile."
Zamara spoke almost in a whisper, and looked warily around, as if afraid of being overheard.
"But how can we prevent it?"
"You know the superintendent?"
"Yes. When he was young, I obtained for him a subordinate place in the prison," answered the countess."
That is a pity!"
"But why?"
"Gratitude does not often stretch back so many years - it has neither the life or grasp of revenge. I would rather this man owed you nothing."
A low, bitter laugh broke from the countess as she replied,
"Never fear, the man will have forgotten it."
"Then our task is easier. I do not know how it is to be done. Give me a little time for thought. Will it be possible to keep this young girl here till morning?"
Not of her own free will, if she has her father's pardon, as you say, in her bosom. I have never seen so much happiness in a human face. She is very lovely. Ah! it is a terrible thing to break up all this joy!"
But more terrible to be driven to a strange land, or torn by a mob," answered Zamara.
"I know I know. Oh ! why did I not let this poor man alone! He would have done me no harm. Now, I think of it, the girl looks like her father; his face was almost as fair as hers, his eyes of the same tender blue. It is strange how clearly I remember them-and she is so happy?"
There was irresolution in the woman's words, and in her heart. Disappointment, trouble, and ingratitude, had broken down her arrogance and humanized her conscience. She felt a yearning desire to protect this young girl in her happiness, and give her wronged father back to his life.
Zamara saw this, and trembled. He understood better than she did the danger that lay before them. Before he could urge the conversation further, Dame Tillery came into the room, followed by a maid-servant, who carried a tray, on which were some delicate trifles, and a plate fresh figs, for madame's desert.
The good dame burst into a torrent of excla mations when she found that the first courses of her dinner was untouched, and became pathetic in her entreaties that madame would just taste the fresh fruit, and delicate cakes, which was to have been the crowning glory of her meal. The countess consented to taste the fruit, but only on condition that Dame Tillery should, in the meantime, help dispose of the viands which had been so long neglected.
Dame Tillery was not so elated by her reception at the palace as to lose any portion of her fine appetite. "It was a shame," she said, "to allow such delicious patties, and that lovely pul let, without mentioning the delicate salad, to be taken back ignominiously to the kitchen. They might be a little cold; but, even then, any one must understand that a cold dinner at the Swan was worth a dozen hot ones at any other public house in Versailles. She would just cut a slice from the breast of the pullet; perhaps seeing her eat would give madame an appetite."
Here Dame Tillery put away her outer garments, set her fan in a corner, and drawing a
