"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
they have not died for a princess so worthy as your Majesty," she
said. "What I have done for these brave men is only what they
have merited. I consoled them, and I respect their wounds when
I think, Madame, that without their devotion, your Majesty would
no longer be alive. Lucienne is yours, Madame, for was it not
your beneficence which gave it to me? All I possess has come to