“But how have you been reduced to this degree of poverty, madame?”
“Alas! that is easily told. You are not ignorant that after the accession of Henry IV., by which the crown passed from the house of Valois to that of Bourbon, there still remained many branches of the fallen family, obscure, doubtless, but incontestably springing from the same root as the four brothers who all perished so miserably.”
The two ladies made a sign of assent.
“Then,” continued Jeanne, “these remnants of the Valois, fearing, in spite of their obscurity, to be obnoxious to the reigning family, changed their name of Valois into that of St. Rémy, which they took from some property, and they may be traced under this name down to my father, who, seeing the monarchy so firmly established, and the old branch forgotten, thought he need no longer deprive himself of his illustrious name, and again called himself Valois, which name he bore in poverty and obscurity in a distant province, while no one at the court of France even knew of the existence of this descendant of their ancient kings.”
Jeanne stopped at these words, which she had spoken with a simplicity and mildness which created a favorable impression.
“You have, doubtless, your proofs already arranged, madame,” said the elder lady, with kindness.
“Oh, madame,” she replied, with a bitter smile, “proofs are not wanting—my father arranged them, and left them to me as his sole legacy; but of what use are proofs of a truth which no one will recognize?”
“Your father is then dead?” asked the younger lady.
“Alas! yes.”
“Did he die in the provinces?”