lowed around the palace by ladies in court
gowns, she would not have her ladies in the room when she was dressing.
If she wished a mirror, she would not wait for it to be passed through
half a dozen hands and handed her by a Princess of the Blood. Sometimes
she used to summon me to amuse her and walk with me by the water in the
beautiful gardens of the Petit Triano. I used to imitate the people she
disliked. I disliked them, too. I have seen her laugh until the tears
came into her eyes when I talked of Monsieur Necker. As the dark days
drew nearer I loved more and more to be in the seclusion of the country
at Montmery, at the St. Gre of my girlhood. I can see St. Gre now," said
the Vicomtesse, "the thatched houses of the little village on either side
of the high-road, the honest, red-faced peasants courtesying in their
doorways at our berline, the brick wall of the park, the iron gates
beside the lodge, the long avenue of poplars, the deer feeding in the
beechwood, the bridge over the shining stream and the long,
weather-beaten chateau beyond it. Paris and the muttering of the storm
were far away. The mornings on the sunny terrace looking across the
valley to the blue hills, the walks in the village, grew very dear to me.
We do not know the value of things, Mr. Ritchie, until we are about to
lose them."

"You did not go back to court?" I asked.

She sighed.

"Yes, I went back. I thought it my duty. I was at Versailles that
terrible summer when the States General met, when the National Assembly
grew out of it, when the Bastille was stormed, when the King was throwing
away his prerogatives like confetti. Never did the gardens of the
Trianon seem more beautiful, or more sad. Sometimes the Queen would
laugh even then when I mimicked Bailly, Des Moulins, Mirabeau. I was
with her Majesty in the gardens on that dark, rainy day when the
fishwomen came to Versailles. The memory of that night will haunt me as
long as I live. The wind howled, the rain lashed with fury against the
windows, the mob tore through the streets of the town, sacked the
wine-shops, built great fires at the corners. Before the day dawned
again the furies had broken into the palace and murdered what was left of
the Guard. You have heard how they carried off the King and Queen to
Paris--how they bore the heads of the soldiers on their pikes. I saw it
from a window, and I shall never forget it."

Her voice faltered, and there were tears on her lashes. Some