there it was not. She searched a
long time in vain, without seeing anything
of either ear-rings or handkerchief; but at
last, at some distance from her, blown by the
wind, she saw something white, that looked
more like a piece of white paper than
anything else. She ran after it, and it was
blown on and on: still she followed, and at
last reached it. Marguerite picked up the
handkerchief, but ear-rings and cross were
gone—it was the empty shell without the
kernel.

The whole day Marguerite wandered about
the common, but, alas! there were so many
tall ferns, and so much heather and wild
thyme everywhere, she could never feel
certain of the precise spot where she had
been. Sometimes she thought it was one
place where she had sat down, sometimes
another; and she searched and searched the
whole day long quite uselessly, and then she
saw that it was near sunset, and that for
that day it would be no use searching any
more. With a heavy heart and weary feet,
Marguerite took her way home.

Once again by the fountain sat Marguerite
and Ange; and Marguerite, foot-sore and
sad, told Ange how she had lost the ear-rings
and cross, and so all hope of their being able
to raise twenty louis was gone. Marguerite,
quite overcome, hid her face in her handkerchief
and wept bitterly. Just then came the
sound of a horse's footsteps close to them,
and Marguerite, despite her grief, looked up,
and saw the young Count Isidore. And when
he saw Marguerite's face, he stopped his
horse and said:

"Why! art thou not the Queen of May?
What has made thee so soon in tears?"

And then Marguerite told him how Ange
had been drawn for the conscription, and how
she had gone to sell the ear-rings and the
cross the handsome lady had given her to
Angelique of the Bouset farm; how on the
common the ear-rings had been lost. And
then Marguerite's tears flowed a-fresh.

The young Count passed on, and looked
very grave, for he had had so many petitions
about the conscription that he had been
obliged to refuse all, and felt he could
not openly do anything for Ange and
Marguerite.

When Marguerite returned that night to
Dame Ponsard's, she found some very grand
people indeed were coming to dine there the
next day, and the whole house was in a state
of confusion preparing things for them.
The dining-room was to be decorated with
laurels and flowers, and the band of the
young Count's regiment was to play during
dinner, and every honour was to be paid
them; for though these travellers were only
called the Comte and Comtesse du Nord, yet
the courier said that was a feigned name, and
they were, in fact, heirs to one of the greatest
crowns in Europe.

The next day Marguerite could not go
to look after her ear-rings, for she had a
great deal to do.

All day these great people were expected, and
at last there was a great noise of carriages, and
they stopped before the door of the Bell, and
a great, great many people were there to see
the travellers descend; and then Dame
Ponsard, rather awe-stricken, but still a smiling
and courteous hostess, stood in the porch to
receive them, and showed them to their
rooms. And then came the dinner; and
poor Marguerite, with her pale face and red
eyes, had to help others to wait at table.

And the young Count Isidore was there,
and he sat on one side of the great lady,
and her husband on the other; and they
talked a great deal all the dinner, but
Marguerite never noticed whether they looked at
her or not—she could think of nothing but
Ange. But at the end of the dinner, when
the dessert was on the table, and all the
servants were going away, the lady beckoned
to Marguerite and called her by her name;
and Marguerite came, and felt very shy and
nervous, for it was all she could do to help
crying, her heart was so sad.

"So thou art the Queen of the May," said
the lady, kindly. " And now tell me, why
are thy eyes so red with tears?"

"Ange has been drawn for the conscription,
madame," answered Marguerite, in a sad,
low voice.

"And dost thou love Ange so much?"

"Oh, yes, very, very much," answered
Marguerite; and, despite of herself, she
blushed quite red, and the tear-drops came
in her eyes again.

"And how much money would it take to
free Ange from this conscription?" said
the lady's husband.

"Oh, a very large sum; more than we
could ever have," answered Marguerite.

"But how much?" said the Countess.

"Alas! twenty louis, madame," answered
poor Marguerite. And then she wiped her
eyes on the corner of her apron, and made a
sort of half-movement to go away; for she
felt that if she stayed much longer she
should burst into tears.

"Hold out thy apron, my child," said the
Countess, gaily. And then from her purse
she took twenty louis and strewed them into
Marguerite's apron.

Poor Marguerite could not speak a word
to thank a kind benefactress: she gave a
little scream of astonishment and joy, and
the louis rolled on the floor. And she knelt
and kissed the lady's dress, which was all
the thanks she could offer; for Marguerite's
heart was too full for words.

As soon as Marguerite had a little
recovered from her agitation, she ran off to their
home to find Madelaine and Ange, and
impart her joyful tidings. And then she was
sadly disappointed to find that Ange was not
there. He had been out all day, Madelaine
said; but the two took counsel together, and