Agatha Larochejaquelin had never looked more beautiful than she did at this time.  Her face was more than ordinarily pale, for her life had lately been one of constant watching and deep anxiety; but hers was a countenance which looked even more lovely without than with its usual slight tinge of colour.  Her beautiful dark-brown hair was braided close to her face, and fastened in a knot behind her head.  She was dressed in a long white morning wrapper, which fell quite down over her feet, and added in appearance to her natural high stature.  She seemed to the noisy peasants, as she stood there before them, sad-looking and sorrowful, but so supremely beautiful, to be like some goddess who had come direct from heaven to give them warning. and encouragement.  The hum of their voices soon dropped, and they stood as silent before her, as though no strong passion, no revenge and thirst for blood had induced them, but a moment before, all but to mutiny against the leaders who had led them so truly, and loved them so well.

“Friends, dear friends,” she began in her sweet voice, low, but yet plainly audible to those whom she addressed; and then she paused a moment to think of the words she would use to them, and as she did so they cheered her loudly, and blessed her, and assured her, in their rough way, how delighted they were to have saved her and the Marquis from their enemies.

“Dear friends,” she continued, “I have come to thank you for the readiness and kindness with which you have hurried to my protection—­to tell you how grateful I and mine are for your affection, and at the same time to ask a favour from your hands.”

“God bless you, Mademoiselle.  We will do anything for Mademoiselle Agatha.  We all know that Mademoiselle is an angel.  We will do anything for her,” said different voices in the crowd.  “Anything but pardon the traitor who has insulted her,” said the man who had been most prominent in demanding Denot’s death.  “Anything at all—­anything, without exception.  We will do anything we are asked, whatever it is, for Mademoiselle Agatha,” said some of the younger men among the crowd, whom her beauty made more than ordinarily enthusiastic in her favour.  “Mademoiselle will not sully her beautiful lips to ask the life of a traitor,” said another.  “We will do anything else; but Denot must die.”  “Yes, Denot must die,” exclaimed others.  “He shall die; he is not fit to live.  When the traitor is hung, we will do anything, go anywhere, for Mademoiselle.”

“Ah! friends,” said she, “the favour I would ask of you is to spare the life of this miserable young man.  Hear me, at any rate,” she continued, for there was a murmur among the more resolute of Denot’s enemies.  “You will not refuse to hear what I say to you.  You demand vengeance, you say, because he has betrayed your cause, and insulted me.  If I can forgive the insult, if my brother can, surely you should do so too.  Think, dear friends, what