“‘After the death of her father, Jeanne, still, as usual, accompanied by her little brother, and carrying her sister on her back, set off on foot for Paris, with the papers which proved her descent from Henry II., and which constituted her whole worldly store, all soiled and ragged, sown up in her tattered _casaquin_. In this plight did she traverse the whole of France, a distance of nearly two hundred leagues, with no support by the way, but from the charity of travellers, until she arrived at the last stage of her journey, within one league of the capital. She declared that, on that memorable day, she had walked more than twenty miles, with the determination of arriving at Paris before nightfall; but here, just at the very moment of seeing her hopes realized, she sank exhausted by the roadside, unable to move a step farther. Her feet were torn and bleeding, and she was drenched to the skin; the rain, which had fallen in torrents during the whole afternoon, had rendered the roads so slippery, that her fatigue had been doubled; added to which, she had scarcely tasted food since morning, for she discovered that, as she drew nearer to the capital, travellers were possessed of sterner feelings; they either turned a deaf ear to her petition, or else laughed to scorn the terms in which it was couched.
“‘Night was coming on apace; it was impossible to remain till morning on the wet and muddy bank. Her heart was pierced by the wailings of her little sister, and the cries of her brother for food and warmth were most piteous. Once more did she call her courage to her aid, and essayed to walk, but she was too weak, and, staggering forward a few paces, fell with her head against a door in the wall, which ran along the footpath. The shock burst it open, and discovered to the astonished gaze of the poor famished children, a scene which appeared to them like fairy-land—a garden filled with blooming shrubs and flowers, and lighted by myriads of coloured lamps. There was no one walking in the garden—the ground was too wet for that—but a few paces from the gate stood a Chinese pavilion, raised by a flight of steps from the ground, all decorated with party-coloured streamers, and blazing with light, within which was gathered a crowd of magnificently-attired ladies and cavaliers, and whence issued sounds of mirth and laughter, and strains of low soft music. It was like a dream of heaven! Jeanne never could tell who among this gay company was the first to perceive the three little miserable wanderers as they stood shivering at the gate, for she stood entranced, until she was brought back to reality by a loud voice shouting a coarse reprimand to a servant in rich livery, who was standing at the door of the pavilion, for having left the garden-gate unlocked. Presently the servant in rich livery came hurriedly down the steps, and taking Jeanne by the arm, was proceeding to turn her without ceremony into the road, when a sudden instinct caused her to resist the attack, and springing forward with a desperate effort, with outstretched arms, she darted towards the pavilion, and called out in a piteous voice, in which the two younger children joined, as soon as ever they heard the first note, so familiar was the cry—“Charity—charity, for the love of Heaven! A morsel of bread for three poor starving orphans, _descendants of the royal house of Valois_!”