ning towards his young officer:
"Berthoald, by this charter I make you count of the county of Nantes,
and I donate to you and your men the abbey of Meriadek, together with
its dependencies."

The abbot remained petrified. Berthoald trembled with joy, and cried in
accents of profound gratitude: "Charles, will your generosity never
tire?"

"No, no, my valiant boy! No more than your arm tires in battle.... And
now, to horse, noble count. Should the abbey of Meriadek turn out to be
a convent of tonsured friars with some fighting abbot at their head who
refuses to make room for you, you have your sword; your men have their
lances. If it happens to be a convent of women and that the nuns are
young and handsome, by the devil!--"

Again the conversation in the monk's refectory was suddenly broken in
upon; this time by Septimine.

CHAPTER IV.

MORDECAI THE SLAVE-DEALER.

Pale, affrighted, her face in tears, her hair unloosened, Septimine
broke into the room and threw herself at the feet of the abbot, crying:

"Mercy, Father, mercy!"

Close upon the heels of Septimine entered two slaves armed with whips,
and carrying rolls of rope. They had run after the young girl, but now
stood respectfully awaiting the abbot's orders. Septimine was so
beautiful, her distress so touching, her suppliant attitude, accentuated
by the tears that flowed down her charming face, so pathetic, that
Berthoald was struck with admiration and suddenly felt an irrepressible
interest in the distracted girl. Charles Martel himself could not hold
back the cry of admiration: "My faith, what a pretty girl!"

"What do you want here?" brutally asked Father Clement, smarting under
the pain of having seen the gift of the abbey of Meriadek slip from him;
and turning to the two slaves, who remained motionless at the door: "Why
have you not punished this wretch?"

"Father, we were about to strip off her clothes and tie her to the
whipping-post. But she fought us so hard that she slipped away from us."

"Oh, Father!" cried Septimine in a voice suffocated with sobs and
raising her suppliant hands to the abbot; "order me killed, but spare me
the disgrace!"

"Charles," said Father Clement, "this slave girl sought to help the
young prince to escape!... Drag her away!" he added to the slaves at
the door; "Have her well whipped!"

The slaves took a step forward, but Berthoald held them back with a
menacing gesture. Approaching Septimine he took her han