Again pressing the fair hand to his lips, he escaped by the entrance which conducted to the back-stairs, but presently returning, said—
“If François, the houblieur, travels the Rue St. Denis this evening, he will not fail to ring his bell for customers to attend!” and so saying, again disappeared.
The houblieurs, or dealers in wafers, a sort of cake, were accustomed to ring a hand-bell to give notice of approach in their passage through the streets; and Marguerite could only construe the page’s enigma, that he intended visiting her abode so disguised.
Obeying the directions, she resorted without delay to the palace gardens, and with fear and trembling took up the station pointed out. A few minutes after the hour mentioned, chimed by the clock, two ushers passed the bench where the maiden was seated—she arose instantly, and the cardinal duke was close at hand, almost surrounded by a group of gaily dressed gentlemen.
Her courage forsook her—but it was too late to retreat—she stood conspicuous in the avenue, and the great man’s train, accustomed perhaps to similar rencontres, falling back a few paces, though within hearing, she confronted the lion in his path. A slight, almost imperceptible shade crossed his features, but he stopped, and with princely serenity listened to the faltering pleading.
“And if the wheels of justice of a mighty kingdom are arrested for one week, will it content such a faithful servant of the king?” asked the cardinal.
“I hope it will afford time to prove my father’s innocence, Monseigneur,” replied the maiden.
“Then Mademoiselle’s wishes shall be the law of France,” rejoined the minister. Bowing with dignity to the maiden, he passed onward with his suite, and she was again alone in the avenue.
[To be continued.