Nos morts traînés à la voierie,
Te disent (ô Dieu!) nos calamités.’ �
“What a terrible story of sorrow it is!� remarked Rosaline; “and to think that the corpse of a gentlewoman should be exposed in the market-place! Mon Dieu! I wonder if mine will be!�
Madame put up her hand with a gesture of horror.
“Hush!� she said, with white lips, “I cannot bear it.�
Rosaline was contrite in a moment.
“A thousand pardons, grand’mère,� she said sweetly; “you and I have lived so long the life of concealed Huguenots, treading on the edge of the volcano, that I grow careless in speech.�
“But do you not see why I am so reluctant to take a risk?� her grandmother asked. “Yet I know that this François d’Aguesseau is related to me through his mother. I remember now who she was, and it seems that I must do what I can.�
Her granddaughter’s face lighted. “That is like you, madame,� she said brightly; “we could not believe she would turn a deaf ear, could we, Truffe? Ah, you petite gourmande, have I not given you enough?�
The older woman watched the girl fondly as she fed and petted the dog. This granddaughter was her last link with the world. Her son, the Comte de St. Cyr had fallen fighting for the king the year before the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, when Rosaline was only three months old. His wife survived him only two years, and the grandmother brought up the child. They had never been rich, and the estate had suffered under madame’s management, for she was always cheated and robbed, being as unworldly as a woman could be who had seen something of the gay life of her day. Her mind now was full of the guest of le Bossu, and she was troubled.