"Your majesty, a child has just run across the road, and has been snatched from under the horses' feet."
"A child!" exclaimed the queen, starting from her seat. "Is it killed?"
"No, your majesty. It is luckily unhurt. The coachman reined up his horses in time for one of the outriders to save it. It is unhurt—nothing but frightened. Your majesty can see him now in the arms of the old peasant-woman there."
"She is about to return to the cottage with it," said the queen. Then stretching her arms toward the old woman, she cried out in an imploring voice: "Give me the child—bring it here! Heaven has sent it to me as a comfort! Give it to me, I entreat you."
Meanwhile the old woman, recalled by the equerry, was approaching the carriage. "See," exclaimed the queen to her ladies, "see what a lovely boy!" And, indeed, he was a beautiful child, in spite of his little tattered red jacket, and his bare brown legs, of dark with dirt as with sunburn.
"Where is his mother?" asked Marie Antoinette, looking compassionately at the child.
"My daughter is dead, madame," said the peasant. "She died last winter, and left me the burden of five young children to feed."
"They shall burden you no longer," exclaimed the queen kindly. "I will maintain them all, and this little angel you must give to me. Will you not?"
"Ah, madame, the child is only too lucky! But my little Jacob is so wilful that he will not stay with you."
"I will teach him to love me," returned the queen. "Give him to me now."