al pearl,' said Berenger,
'without which all else is worthless.'

'Ah!' she said, 'who would have thought that soft, youthful face could
be so severe! You would never forgive a deceit?'

'Never,' he said, with the crystal hardness of youth; 'or rather I might
forgive; I could never esteem.'

'What a bare, rude world yours must be,' she said, shivering. 'And no
weak ones in it! Only the strong can dare to be true.'

'Truth is strength!' said Berenger. 'For example: I see yonder a face
without bodily strength, perhaps, but with perfect candour.'

'Ah! some Huguenot girl of Madame Catherine's, no doubt--from the depths
of Languedoc, and dressed like a fright.'

'No, no; the young girl behind the pale, yellow-haired lady.'

'Comment, Monsieur. Do you not yet know the young Queen?'

'But who is the young demoiselle!--she with the superb black eyes, and
the ruby rose in her black hair?'

'Take care, sir, do you not know I have still a right to be jealous?'
she said, blushing, bridling, and laughing.

But this pull on the cords made him the more resolved; he would not be
turned from his purpose. 'Who is she?' he repeated; 'have I ever seen
her before? I am sure I remember that innocent look of _espieglerie_.'

'You may see it on any child's face fresh out of the convent; it does
not last a month!' was the still displeased, rather jealous answer.
'That little thing--I believe they call her Nid-de-Merle--she has only
just been brought from her nunnery to wait on the young Queen. Ah! your
gaze was perilous, it is bringing on you one of the jests of Madame
Marguerite.'

With laughter and gaiety, a troop of gentlemen descended on M. de
Ribaumont, and told him that Madame Marguerite desired that he should be
presented to her. The princess was standing by her pale sister-in-law,
Elizabeth of Austria, who looked grave and annoyed at the mischievous
mirth flashing in Marguerite's dark eyes.

'M. de Ribaumont,' said the latter, her very neck heaving with
suppressed fun, 'I see I cannot do you a greater favour than by giving
you Mademoiselle de Nid-de-Merle for your partner.'

Berenger was covered with confusion to find that he had been guilty of
such a fixed stare as to bring all this upon the poor girl. He feared
that his vague sense of recognition had made his gaze more open than he
knew, and he was really and deeply ashamed of this as his worst act of
provincial ill-breeding.

Poor little convent maid, with crimson