d, madam, in our very house," stammered Jocelyne,
wringing her hands. "He had sought a refuge there--and he there lay
concealed. But, alas! my poor grandmother, her wits are at times
unsettled. Oh! she knew not what she did. Believe me she did not know. A
treacherous villain worked upon her wavering mind--she betrayed him.
They took him from the room a prisoner. I would have led my grandmother
to seek his pardon at the feet of the king, who loved her so well that
he would refuse her nothing; but soldiers guarded our doors; they would
not let us pass. Then I bethought myself of the window. Our house is on
the bridge, and looks upon the river. Below was a mill and the miller's
boat. He is a good man, and kind of heart. I knew that he would row me
to the shore. Alayn, my cousin, would have prevented me; but I would not
hear him. What was the rushing stream, or the whirling mill-wheel to me?
I saw not danger when I thought I could save the noble Count."

"Brave girl! brave girl!" interrupted Margaret, in palpitating
excitement.

"There were beams and posts that descended to the water's edge," pursued
Jocelyne, her eyes sparkling and her cheek now flushed with the
animation of her tale. "Alayn aided me, although unwillingly, with cord
and linen. I reached the mill--the boat. The miller rowed me to the
shore. I knew I could not approach the king; but I bethought me of you,
madam--for they say--they say, you love him well." At these words
Jocelyne hesitated, with a mixture of feelings, in which bashful
timidity struggled with her jealousy of the great lady before whom she
knelt.

"Pursue, girl, pursue," said Margaret, an instantaneous blush again
colouring that cheek, from which alarm had driven all colour.

"Yes; and I knew that you would save him," continued the excited girl,
stretching out her hands in anguish. "He is your own brother--he--the
king, the dispenser of life and death; and he will listen to you. And
you will save the Count, will you not?"

"Yes--yes, girl! I will do all I can!" said the princess walking up and
down in agitation. "Rise, rise--your tale is confused. I know not what
all this may mean; but the truth is there. He is a prisoner! Oh, La
Mole! La Mole! Whether has your imprudence driven you? And were it for
me that he has done thus. Yes--yes I will to my brother Charles--I will
learn all--supplicate--save him!"

With these words, half murmured to herself, half addressed to Jocelyne,
the Queen of