'Oh yes, she will come to dress his wound in good time,' answered

the old woman.

'And when? I should like to hear what she thinks of it,' said

Berenger.

'How?' said the old woman with a certain satisfaction in his

disappointment; 'is our Lady of Hope to be coming down among you

gay gallants?' 'But who is this Lady of Hope?' demanded he.

'Who should she be but our good pastor's daughter? Ah! and a

brave, good daughter she was too, abiding the siege because his

breath was so bad that he could not be moved.' 'What was his name?' asked Berenger, attracted strangely by what he

heard.

'Ribault, Monsieur--Pasteur Ribault. Ah! a good man, and sound

preacher, when preach he could; but when he could not, his very

presence kept the monks' REVENANTS from vexing us--as a cat keeps

mice away; and, ah! The children have been changed creatures since

Madame dealt with them. What! Monsieur would know why they call

her our Lady of Hope? Esperance is her true name; and, moreover,

in the former days this abbey had an image that they called Notre-

Dame de l'Esperance, and the poor deceived folk thought it did

great miracles. And so, when she came hither, and wrought such

cures, and brought blessing wherever she went, it became a saying

among us that at length we had our true Lady of Hope.

A more urgent summons here forced Berenger away, and his repetition

of the same question received much the same answer from deaf old

Captain Falconnet. He was obliged to repair to his post with

merely a piece of bread in his hand; abut, though vigilance was

needful, the day bade fair to be far less actively occupied than

its predecessor: the enemy were either disposed to turn the siege

into a blockade, or were awaiting reinforcements and heavier

artillery; and there were only a few desultory attacks in the early

part of the morning. About an hour before noon, however, the

besiegers seemed to be drawing out in arms, as if to receive some

person of rank, and at the same time sounds were heard on the hills

to the eastward, as if troops were on the march. Berenger having

just been told by the old sergeant that probably all would be quiet

for some time longer, and been almost laughed at by the veteran for

consulting him whether it would be permissible for him to be absent

a few minutes to visit his brother, was setting out across the

bridge for the purpose, his eyes in the direction of the rampart,

which followed the curve of the river. The paths which--as has

been said--the feet of the washerwomen and drawers of water had

worn away in quieter times, had been smoothed and scarped away on

the outer side, so as to come to an abrupt termination some feet

above the gay marigolds, coltsfoot, and other spring flowers that

smiled by the water-side. Suddenly he beheld on the rampart a tiny

gray and white figure, fearlessly trotting, or rather dancing,

along the summit and the men around him exclaimed, 'The little

moonbeam child!' 'A fairy--a changeling!'--'They cannot shoot at

such a babe!' 'Nor could they harm her!' 'Hola! little one!

Gare! Go back to your mother!' 'Do not disturb yourself, sir;

she is safer than you,' were the ejaculations almost at the same

moment, while he sprang forward, horrified at the peril of such an

infant. He had reached the angle between the bridge and rampart,

when he perceived that neither humanity nor superstition were

protecting the poor child; for, as she turned down the remnant of

one of the treacherous little paths, a man in bright steel and deep

black had spurred his horse to the river's brink, and was

deliberately taking aim at her. Furious at such brutality,

Berenger fired the pistol he held in his hand, and the wretch

dropped from his horse; but at the same moment his pistol exploded,

and the child rolled down the bank, whence a piteous wail came up,

impelling Berenger to leap down to her assistance, in the full face

of the enemy. Perhaps he was protected for the moment by the

confusion ensuing on the fall of the officer; and when he reached

the bottom of the bank, he saw the little creature on her feet, her

round cap and gray woolen dress stripped half off in the fall, and

her flaxen hair falling round her plump, white, exposed shoulder,

but evidently unhurt, and gathering yellow marigolds as composedly

as though she had been making May garlands. He snatched her up,

and she said, with the same infantine dignity, 'Yes, take me up;

the naughty people spoilt the path. But I must take my beads

first.' And she tried to struggle out of his arms, pointing

therewith to a broken string among the marshy herb-age on which

gleamed--the pearls of Ribaumont!




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