I think no more of it than of the snapping of one of the threads on yonder tapestry frame.

It is for the king I grieve--for the noble heart, the kindly soul, which might rise so high, and which is dragged so low, like a royal eagle with some foul weight which ever hampers its flight.

It is for him and for France that my days are spent in sorrow and my nights upon my knees." "For all that, my daughter, you are ambitious." It was the Jesuit who had spoken.

His voice was clear and cold, and his piercing gray eyes seemed to read into the depths of her soul.
"You may be right, father.

God guard me from self-esteem.