MARIE ANTOINETTE'S TALISMAN. 61
chair to the table, soon, duried it under the am- plitude of her-skirts, while she squired her elbows and carved the pullet with, professional dexterity, stopping now and then to nibble a dainty bit from her fork.
“She had known, people,” the dame said, ‘who, lost their, appetite the moment a great honor or a grief came upon them; but, for her part, she was well used to such things, and took them quietly. Now there was the little girl down stairs, who absolutely refused to take a morsel of dinner, just.from the excitement of having spoken with the queen; while she, who was, in fact, the person, who had introduced her to their majesties, was-ready for a hearty meal, and felt even increased appetite from all the honors that, had been showered upon her.”
Du Barry sat quietly peeling the purple coat from a fig while Dame Tillery was speaking; but her quick mind was|at, work, and the expression of her face revealed a new idea.
The sensual nature of this woman had, for many years, prevailed over her intellect. But one noble feeling had found root in her heart, and aroused the sympathy of her faculties. She was grateful, When we say this, it is to acknowledge that a noble capacity of goodness still lived in this woman, as lilies spring up, pure and snow-white, froma soil prolific, with impurities. Thus it was that she had come to Versailles on an errand which would have been pronounced noble in a better woman.
But while she seized upon every word calculated to help out her object, quick animal sympathy awoke her slumberous appetite. As she saw with what hearty relish Dame. Tillery devoured the savory chicken, and filled her mouth with the delicious salad, she placed the half- peeled fig on its dish, and held. out her plate for some of. the more substantial yiands, which the good dame seemed content to monopolize:
“Ah, that is pleasant!” exclaimed the land- lady, heaping some of the white nieat and savory dressing on the plate. “To dine alone is always desolation to me; but as madame has found her appetite, my place is no longer here, I-only sat down to save the credit of the house, which would have, been in, peril had a dinner gone down to the kitchen untasted. Permit me to open a flask of wine for madame.”
“Yes, certainly,” answered the countess, laying her plump hand on the landlady’s arm, but only as my guest. I cannot permit a person who has been honored, by a presentation at the chateau to serve me except as a friend.”
Dame Tillery flushed. like a peony, and flut- tered like a peacock under this compliment.
‘‘There,” she ‘said, drawing the cork from a wine-flask with the prong of w fork. “It is not often this wine seesithe daylight; but on a day like this, and with guests 'that may be considered as old friends.”
‘You kaodw me, then?” exclaimed the countéss,
- turning pale wherever the rowge on her face
would permit of pallor, ‘You know me?”
I confess that 1 knew madame from the first minute.”
An impulse of gratified vanity conquered the caution that Du Burry had resolved to maintain.
“Then I cannot have changed so much; years have not entirely swept away the beauty whiéh which”
“Oh! interrupted the dame, so full of vanity herself that she had no thought for that of an- other. It was the little dwarf. He has grown old, and has wrinkles; but no one can him, especially those who hated him so.’
The painted woman, whose pride had itself for a moment, sunk back in her chair with a heavy sigh; but continued despondency was not in her nature. She'drank off a glass of the wine Dame Tillery had poured out, and resumed the conversation.
“It is not known that I am here, I trust. Zamara has been in the street but once, and thew he was dressed like a child,” she said, anxiously.
“No, the people have not yet discovered him. If they did, his life would not be worth the half of that fig.”
“Do they, indeed, hate us so?” questioned the countess, really frightened. Poor Zamara! he is the only faithful friend I ever knew. In killing him they would break my heart; but you will keep our secret?”
“Dame Tillery laid a broad hand on her broader busom.
“From every one but her majesty, the queen,” she said, solemnly; “from her I can keep no- thing, being, as one might say, one of her council. When I go to her majesty to-morrow morning——”
“Tomorrow morning! ‘Will you have access to the queen then?”
“Of course,” answeréd the dame, ‘an especial Wheti we’ came’ out of the andience- chamber. to-day, that little roly-poly lady, Madame Campan, followed after us, and bade me return again on the same hour tomorrow. It was the queen’s order,’ she said. No doubt her majesty was disturbed by the way in which the demoiselle downstairs, and that man from the city, put themselves forward—I assure you their audacity was abominable. One could scarcely
