"I? never!" replied the young woman.
"Indeed!" said Maurice, "that is strange."
"And why strange?" said Geneviève. "We lived in the country till '91; since '91 we have resided in the old Rue Saint Jacques, which much resembles the country, only here they have neither light nor air, and still less flowers. You are acquainted with my life, Citizen Maurice? It has always been the same. How do you suppose I could have seen the queen, when I have had no opportunity whatever of so doing?"
"And I do not think you will avail yourself of that which unfortunately, perhaps, may present itself," said Maurice.
"What do you mean?" demanded Geneviève.
"The Citizen Maurice," replied Morand, "alludes to a thing no longer a secret."
"To what?" demanded Geneviève.
"To the probable condemnation of Marie Antoinette, and to her death upon the same scaffold where her husband died. The citizen said, in short, that you would not avail yourself of the opportunity offered you of seeing her the day when she will quit the Temple for the Place de la Révolution."
"Oh, certainly not!" cried Geneviève, as Morand pronounced these words with the utmost sang-froid.
"Then you can only lament," said the impassible chemist; "for the Austrian is well guarded, and the Republic a fairy that renders invisible whatever she pleases."