arranged as to almost hide hair that was white, no doubt with age, for
there was not a trace of powder on the collar of her dress. The
extreme plainness of her dress lent an air of austerity to her face,
and her features were proud and grave. The manners and habits of
people of condition were so different from those of other classes in
former times that a noble was easily known, and the shopkeeper's wife
felt persuaded that her customer was a _ci-devant_, and that she had
been about the Court.

"Madame," she began with involuntary respect, forgetting that the
title was proscribed.

But the old lady made no answer. She was staring fixedly at the shop
windows as though some dreadful thing had taken shape against the
panes. The pastry-cook came back at that moment, and drew the lady
from her musings, by holding out a little cardboard box wrapped in
blue paper.

"What is the matter, citoyenne?" he asked.

"Nothing, nothing, my friends," she answered, in a gentle voice. She
looked up at the man as she spoke, as if to thank him by a glance; but
she saw the red cap on his head, and a cry broke from her. "Ah! _You_
have betrayed me!"

The man and his young wife replied by an indignant gesture, that
brought the color to the old lady's face; perhaps she felt relief,
perhaps she blushed for her suspicions.

"Forgive me!" she said, with a childlike sweetness in her tones. Then,