One day she found herself still young at Lucienne, although her
sun was setting. She loved the duc de Brissac, and how many
pages of her past romance would she that day have liked to
erase and forget!

"Why do you weep, Countess?" asked her lover.

"My friend," she responded, "I weep because I love you, shall I
say it? I weep because I am happy."

She was right; happiness is a festival that should know no
to-morrow. But on the morrow of her happiness, the Revolution
knocked at the castle gate of Lucienne.

"Who goes there?"

"I am justice; prepare for destiny."

The Queen, the true queen, had been good to her as to everybody.
Marie Antoinette remembered that the favorite had not been wicked.
The debts of Du Barry were paid and money enough was given to her
so that she could still give with both hands. Lucienne became an
echo of Versailles. Foreign kings and Parisian philosophers came
to chat in its portals. Minerva visited shameless Venus. But
wisdom took not root at Lucienne.

For the Revolution, alas! had to cut off this charming head,
which was at one time the ideal of beauty--of court beauty.
Madame du Barry gave hospitality to the wounded at the arrest of
the queen. "These wounded youths have no other regret than that