“What did Charlot call him?� her grandmother asked thoughtfully. “I thought the name was familiar.�
“He said ’twas François d’Aguesseau.�
Madame de St. Cyr sat a moment silent, trying to gather her recollections in shape, then her memory suddenly helped her.
“Certainly I know,� she said; “they are from Dauphiné. He must be the son of Sieur d’Aguesseau who was broken on the wheel at Montpellier in ’99. I remember now very well; he had a son and a daughter, and I did hear that she was carried away to the Tour de Constance. It must have been the same young woman whose corpse was exhibited on Saturday at Nîmes. The song is true,� she added sadly:
“ ‘Nos filles dans les monastères,
Nos prisonniers dans les cachots,
Nos martyrs dont le sang se répand à grands flots,
Nos confesseurs sur les galères,
Nos malades persécutés,
Nos mourants exposés à plus d’une furie,