“After this—­I believe about a year later—­there came a day when she bought a new cap and shawl for herself and new clothes for us, and, having seen that we were thoroughly washed, took us up the hill to a fine street near the palace, and to a hotel which was almost the grandest house in the street.  We entered, and were led into the presence of a very noble-looking gentleman in a long yellow dressing-gown, who blessed us and gave us a kiss apiece, and some gold money, and afterwards poured out wine for Maman Trebuchet and thanked her for taking such good care of us.”

“That was your father, Princess.”

“I have often thought so.  But I remember nothing of his face except that he had tears in his eyes when we said good-bye to him; at which I wondered a great deal, for I had never seen a man crying.  When we were outside again in the street Maman Trebuchet took the gold away from us.  I think she too must have received money:  for from that day she neglected her marketing and drank more heavily than before.  About a month later she was dead.

“On the day of the funeral there came to our house a man dressed like a gentleman—­yet I believe rather that he must have been some kind of courier or valet.  He spoke to us very kindly, and said that we had friends, who had sent him to us; that when we grew up we should not want for money; but that just now it was most important we should be put to school and made fit for our proper position in life.  We must make up our minds to be separated, he said—­and at this we both wept—­but we should see one another often.  For Camillo he had found lodgings with an excellent tutor, in whose care, after a year’s study, he was to travel abroad and see the world:  while for me he had chosen a home with some discreet ladies who would attend to my schooling.”

“The house was in the Rue de Luxembourg—­a corner house, where the street is joined by a lane running from the Place du Parvis.  He led me to it that same evening, and Camillo came too, to make sure that I was comfortable.  It was a strange house and full of ladies, the most of them young and all very handsomely dressed.  But for their dresses I could almost have fancied it some kind of convent.  At all events, they received me kindly, and many of them wept when they saw my parting with Camillo.”

Here the Princess paused, and sat silent for so long that I bent forward in the dusk to read her face.  She drew away, shivering, and put up both hands as if to cover it.

“Well, Princess?”

“That house, Cavalier! . . . that horrible house! . . .  Ah, remember that I was a child, scarcely twelve years old—­I had heard vile words among the market folk, but they were words and meant nothing to me:  and now I saw things which I did not understand and—­and I became used to them before ever guessing that these were the things those vile words had meant.  The women were pretty, you see . . . and merry, and kind to me at first.