and the welcome of this bird of Trianon was the balm of many a wound
that I have received since yesterday."

"Your majesty was in Paris?" asked Besenval, hesitatingly, and with
a searching glance of his cunning, dark eyes, directed to the sad
countenance of Marie Antoinette.

"I was in Paris," answered she, with a flush of joy; "and the good
Parisians welcomed the wife of the king and the mother of the
children of France with a storm of enthusiasm."

"No, madame," replied the baron, reddening, "they welcomed with a
storm of enthusiasm the most beautiful lady of France, the adored
queen, the mother of all poor and suffering ones."

"And yet there was a dissonant note which mingled with all these
jubilee tones," said the queen, thoughtfully. "While all were
shouting, there came one voice which sounded to my ear like the song
of the bird of misfortune. Believe me, Besenval, every thing is not
as it ought to be. There is something in the air which fills me with
anxiety and fear. I cannot drive it away; I feel that the sword of
Damocles is hanging over my head, and that my hands are too weak to
remove it."

"A woe to the traitors who have dared to raise the sword of Damocles
over the head of the queen!" cried the baron, furiously.

"Woe to them, but woe to me too!" replied the queen, with gentle
sadness. "I have this morning had a stormy interview with Madame
Adelaide. It appears that my enemies have concocted a new way of