The Marquise laughed at her old servant's carefulness. "You would like to put her to bed as you used when she was a baby. Who brought this?" she added, with a start, as, turning the note in her hand, she observed the royal arms of the Body-guard emblazoned on its seal; bending her head over it the while to conceal the crimson that rose to her very temples.
What a wild gush of happiness filled her heart while she read on—her warm wilful heart, that sent tears of sheer pleasure to her eyes so that she could scarcely decipher the words, and that beat so loud, she hardly heard Célandine's disapproving accents in reply.
"The fiercest soldier, and the ugliest I have yet set eyes on. Nine feet high at least, and the rudest manners I ever encountered, even in a Musketeer!"
Cerise was no longer to be pitied for want of colour, but Célandine, though she observed the change, took no notice of it, only urging on her young lady the propriety of going immediately to bed.
Meanwhile, the Marquise read her note again. It was not (what letter ever was?) so enchanting on the second perusal as the first.
It ran thus:—
"Madame,
"I am distressed beyond measure to trouble a lady with a question of military discipline. I cannot sufficiently regret that my duty compels me to post a sentry in the grounds of the Hôtel Montmirail. In order that this inconvenient arrangement may interfere as little as possible with the privacy of Madame, I urgently request, as the greatest favour, that she will indicate by her commands the exact spot on which she will permit one of my Musketeers to be stationed, and I will be at Madame's orders at the usual time of going my rounds to-night. I have the honour to remain, with assurances of the most distinguished consideration, the humblest of Madame's humble servants.
(Signed) "George,
"Captain, Grey Musketeers of the King."
It was a polite document enough, and obviously the merest
affair of military arrangement, yet the Marquise, after a
