"Marguerite—not Marguerite!" she cried out, and he touched her arm warningly.
"Not quite so loud, if you please, Madame, and control your features better. Yes, that is not so bad. And now allow me to ask you a question. Why should Mlle de Matigny's fate interest the wife of the regicide Dangeau?"
"M. l'Abbé, for pity's sake, tell me, she is not dead—little Marguerite?"
"Not this time, Madame, but who knows when the blow will fall? But there, it can matter very little to you."
"To me?" She sighed heavily. "It matters greatly. M. l'Abbé; I do not forget my friends. I have not so many that I can forget them."
"You remember?"
"Oh, M. l'Abbé!"
"And you would help them?"
"If I could."
He paused, scrutinising her earnest face. Then he said slowly: