"You will have to hear, my Margaret, that I love you, and yet that
the image of another woman is cherished in my heart."

"Who is this other woman?" cried Margaret.

"Margaret, it is Queen Marie Antoinette."

The girl breathed freely, and laughed. "Ah! how you frightened me,
Louis. I was afraid you were going to name a rival, and now you
mention her whom I, too, love and honor, to whom I pay my whole
tribute of admiration, and who, although you ought to live there
alone, has a place in my heart. I shall never be jealous of the
queen. I love her just as devotedly as you do."

A light, sympathetic smile played upon the lips of Toulan. "No,
Margaret," said he, gravely, "you do not love her as I do, and you
cannot, for your duty to her is not like mine. Listen, my darling,
and I will tell you a little story--a story which is so sacred to me
that it has never passed over my lips, although, according to the
ways of human thinking, there is nothing so very strange about it.
Come, my dear, sit down with me a little while, and listen to me."

He led the maiden to the little divan, and took a place with her
upon it. Her hand lay within his, and with a joyful and tender look
she gazed into the bold, noble, and good face of the man to whom she
was ready to devote her whole life.

"Speak now, Louis, I will listen!"