— 8 — A HOTHOUSE BOUQUETSolange Desgrez was sincerely sorry for the unhappy prisoner in the Bastille, whom she could not think of as a murderess, but only as a lovesick fool.
“Perhaps she loved her Saint-Richard as I love my Charles,” thought the happy young wife, as she prepared a basket of fruit and cakes to take with her to the prison.
“Even if she cannot eat the things, she will like to see them,” thought Solange as she arranged her macaroons in a pretty packet of gilded paper and placed round them the oranges set off by their dark green leaves and added little packets of comfits in cardboard spangled with silver stars. “Poor thing, perhaps she is really quite innocent, and it was only some so-called charm that she gave her husband — perhaps a drug to make him sleep while she ran out
