Thus the eve of the Epiphany came, and there was a feast for the King and his little companions.  Gaspard had the Bean, and the Queen crowned him and made him King of the night.  King Louis himself had to bend the knee, which he did with the best grace in the world.  (You must all have seen the little enamelled Bean-flower badge that your father received on that night.)

Every one went to see the children at their feast, where the little English lady Henrietta sat between her two royal cousins, looking like a rosebud, all ignorant, poor child, of the said disaster which was falling on her.  Her mother was looking on, smiling in the midst of her cares to see the children’s glee.

The Queen-Regent was in the highest spirits.  We had never seen her dignity so relax into merriment as when she set the little ones to dance together after the supper was over; but she sent them to bed early, much earlier than her sons desired.  We heard his real Majesty saying to Gaspard, ’M. le Marquis, since you are King of the Bean, command that we should be like all other revelers, and sit up till morning.’

My boy looked up to me, and read in my face that he must not presume.

‘Ah! sire,’ said he, ’though we are called kings, these ladies are the higher powers.’

It was applauded as a grand witticism, although Gaspard meant it in all simplicity, and had no notion of the meaning attributed to it.  Nay, he thought all the praise was approval of him as a good boy inducing the King to be obedient.

After the children had gone to bed, including Mademoiselle’s three little half-sisters, dull little girls of whom she spoke contemptuously but always treated very kindly, she led the way to the apartment where her father was sitting by a great fire, fretful with gout, and wanting the amusement which she tried to give him by describing the children’s diversions.  Some one came and whispered something to her, and in the tone of one who has an excellent joke to rehearse she went up to the Duke of Orleans, exclaiming—­

’Monsieur!  Here is news!  We are all to start for St. Germain this very night!’

Monsieur made no answer, and immediately after bade her good night.  She then went to her stepmother’s room, and I remained with some of the other ladies, who were pretty well convinced that it was a true report, and that the Queen had been only waiting the arrival of the troops from the Low Countries to quit Paris and crush the resistance of the Parliament.  What was to become of us we did not know, whether we were to stay or go; but as we heard no more, and Mademoiselle came out and went to bed, we followed her example.

Between three and four we were all awakened by a loud knocking at the door, and Mademoiselle’s shrill voice calling out to her maids to open it.  Through the anteroom, where the Comtess de Fiesque and I were sleeping, there came M. de Comminges.  Mademoiselle, in her laced night-cap, rose on her pillows and asked—­