Antoinette when she was in prison and her throne
was gone and she had only a black gown on, and her hair was white, and
they insulted her and called her Widow Capet. She was a great deal more
like a queen then than when she was so gay and everything was so grand.
I like her best then. Those howling mobs of people did not frighten
her. She was stronger than they were, even when they cut her head off."

This was not a new thought, but quite an old one, by this time. It had
consoled her through many a bitter day, and she had gone about the
house with an expression in her face which Miss Minchin could not
understand and which was a source of great annoyance to her, as it
seemed as if the child were mentally living a life which held her above
he rest of the world. It was as if she scarcely heard the rude and
acid things said to her; or, if she heard them, did not care for them
at all. Sometimes, when she was in the midst of some harsh,
domineering speech, Miss Minchin would find the still, unchildish eyes
fixed upon her with something like a proud smile in them. At such
times she did not know that Sara was saying to herself:

"You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, and
that if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only
spare you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, unkind,
vulgar old thing, and don't know any better."

This used to interest and amuse her more than anything else; and queer
and fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it and it was a good thing
for her. While the thought held possession of her, she could not be
made rude and malicious by the rudeness and malice of those about her.

"A princess must be polite," she said to herself.

And so when the servants, taking their tone from their mistress, were
insolent and ordered her about, she would hold her head erect and reply
to them with a quaint civility which often made them stare at her.

"She's got more airs and graces than if she come from Buckingham
Palace, that young one," said the cook, chuckling a little sometimes.
"I lose my temper with her often enough, but I will say she never
forgets her manners. 'If you please, cook'; 'Will you be so kind,
cook?' 'I beg your pardon, cook'; 'May I trouble you, cook?' She
drops 'em about the kitchen as if they was nothing."

The morning after the interview with Ram Dass and his monkey, Sara was
in the schoolroom with her small pupils. Having