"But why did she not apply to me?"
"Your highness was still in Spain."
"Oh! mon Dieu! what do you say? Continue, mademoiselle, for you cannot tell how much you interest me. Poor Clarice, poor Albert, they loved each other so much, I remember. She could not survive him. Do you know that your father saved my life at Nerwinden, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, monseigneur, I know it, and that gave me courage to present myself before you."
"But you, poor child, poor orphan, what became of you?"
"I, monseigneur, was taken by a friend of our family, a poor writer called Jean Buvat."
"Jean Buvat!" cried the regent, "I know that name; he is the poor copyist who discovered the whole conspiracy, and who some days ago made his demands in person. A place in the library, was it not, some arrears due?"
"The same, monseigneur."
"Mademoiselle," replied the regent, "it appears that those who surround you are destined to save me. I am thus twice your debtor. You said you had a boon to ask of me—speak boldly, I listen to you."
"Oh, my God!" murmured Bathilde, "give me strength."