'Madame, he hung himself.'
The queen recoiled, shocked and pained. With tenderness, she stooped over the girl, and said, 'I am sorry to have distressed you by asking that question; go on with your story about the mistress. What was she like?'
'Madame, do you mean in disposition or in appearance?'
'You have told me that she was good and kind; was she old or young, handsome or plain?'
'Oh, madame, she was like lead.'
'What do you mean, Françoise, my girl?'
'Her face was like lead,—the colour of lead, blue-grey.'
'My God! how dreadful.'
'And that was why her husband hated her, and teased her beyond endurance. Besides, he was a bad,—oh! such a wicked man.'
'Where is the poor lady now?' asked the queen.