e sense of what the old woman was
saying--that in half-an-hour at most Mademoiselle would find her friends,
for then the doors would be closed, and every one would be obliged to
leave the palace. She felt satisfied that the old woman would be on the
look-out for the little party she had described to her, and she thought
vaguely that she would ask grandmother to give her a sixpence or a
shilling--no, not a sixpence or a shilling,--she was in France, not in
England--what should she say? A franc--half a franc--how much was equal
to a sixpence or a shilling? She thought it over mistily for a moment
or two, and then thought no more about it--she had fallen fast asleep!

But how was this? She had fallen asleep with her head on the
apple-woman's stall; when she looked round her again where was she? For
a minute or two she did not in the least recognise the room--then it
suddenly flashed upon her she was in the Salle Henri II., the room where
poor Henry the Fourth was killed! But how changed it was--the pictures
were all gone, the walls were hung with the tapestry she had wished she
could see there, and the room was but dimly lighted by a lamp hanging
from the centre of the roof. Sylvia did not feel in any way surprised
at the transformation--but she looked about her with great interest and
curiosity. Suddenly a slight feeling of fear came over her, when in one
corner she saw the hangings move, and from behind the tapestry a hand, a
very long white hand, appear. Whose could it be? Sylvia's fear increased
to terror when it suddenly struck her that this must be the night of the
14th of May, the night on which Henry of Navarre was to be killed. She
gave a scream of terror, or what she fancied a scream; in reality it was
the faintest of muffled sounds, like the tiny squeal of a distressed
mouse, which seemed to startle the owner of the hand into quicker
measures. He threw back the hangings and came towards Sylvia, addressing
her distinctly. The voice was so kind that her courage returned, and she
looked up at the new comer. His face was pale and somewhat worn-looking,
the eyes were bright and sparkling, and benevolent in expression; his
tall figure was curiously dressed in a fashion which yet did not seem
quite unfamiliar to the little girl--a sort of doublet or jacket of rich
crimson velvet, with lace at the collar and cuffs, short trousers
fastened in at the knees, "very like Ralph's knickerbockers," said Sylvia
to herself, long p