ad known my father. Then she took
refuge in La Sablerie, and wrote to my mother, deeming me dead. I was
just well enough to go in quest of her. I came--ah! Sire, I found only
charred ruins. Your Majesty knows how Huguenot bourgs are dealt with.

'And she---?

Berenger answered but by a look.

'Why did you come to tell me this?' said the King, passionately. 'Do you
not know that they have killed me already? I thought you came because
there was still some one I could aid.

'There is, there is, Sire,' said Berenger, for once interrupting
royalty. 'None save you can give me my child. It is almost certain that
a good priest saved it; but it is in a convent, and only with a royal
order can one of my religion either obtain it, or even have my questions
answered.

'Nor with one in Paris,' said the King dryly; 'but in the country the
good mothers may still honour their King's hand. Here, Ambroise, take
pen and ink, and write the order. To whom?

'To the Mother Prioress of the Ursulines at Lucon, so please our
Majesty,' said Berenger, 'to let me have possession of my daughter.

'Eh! is it only a little girl?

'Yes, Sire; but my heart yearns for her all the more,' said Berenger,
with glistening eyes.

'You are right,' said the poor King. 'Mine, too, is a little girl; and
I bless God daily that she is no son--to be the most wretched thing the
France. Let her come in, Madame. She is little older than my friend's
daughter. I would show her to him.

The Queen signed to Madame la Comtesse to fetch the child, and Berenger
added, 'Sire, you could do a further benefit to my poor little one. One
more signature of yours would attest that ratification of my marriage
which took place in your Majesty's presence.

'Ah! I remember,' said Charles. 'You may have any name of mine that can
help you to oust that villain Narcisse; only wait to use it--spare me
any more storms. It will serve your turn as well when I am beyond
they, and you will make your claim good. What,' seeing Berenger's
interrogative look, 'do you not know that by the marria