After some time, when the thread with which she was sewing was exhausted, Marie Antoinette raised her eyes and turned them to the men, who had laid their pipes aside, and were zealously engaged upon their cards. The mien of the queen was no longer so calm and rigidly composed as it had been before, and when she spoke, there was a slight quivering discernible in her voice.
"Citizen Toulan," she said, "I beg you to give me the ball of thread again. I have no more, and this dress is in a wretched condition; I must mend it."
Toulan turned toward her with a gesture of impatience.
"You disturb me, madame, and put me out in the game. What are you saying?"
"I asked you, Citizen Toulan, to give me the thread again, because, without it, I cannot work."
"Oh! the ball which little Miss Capet gave me a short time ago. And so you won't let me keep a remembrance of the pretty girl?"
"I must mend this dress," said the queen, gently.
"Well, if you must, you must," growled Toulan, rising.
"Wait a moment, brothers, till I carry her the ball."
"What do you want to get up for?" asked Simon.