d and said: "Fear
not, poor child; Charles the chief of the Franks will not allow you to
be punished."

The young woman, not yet daring to rise, turned her charming face
towards Berthoald, and remained no less struck by the generosity of the
young man than by his comely looks. Their eyes met. Berthoald felt a
profound emotion, while Charles said to Septimine: "Come, I pardon you;
but why the devil, my little girl, did you want that royal urchin to run
away?"

"Oh, seigneur, the child is so unhappy! My father and mother, the same
as myself, felt pity for him.... That is all our crime, seigneur.... I
swear by the salvation of my soul;" and sobs again choked her voice.
Again joining her hands, she could only utter the words: "Mercy; mercy
for my father and mother! Have pity upon us, noble seigneur!"

"You are weeping fit to choke yourself," said Charles, touched, despite
his roughness, at the sight of such youth, anguish and beauty: "I forbid
that your father and mother be punished."

"Seigneur ... they want to sell me and to separate me from my
parents.... Have pity upon us!"

"What about that, monk?" asked Charles, while Berthoald, who felt his
sorrow, admiration and pity increase by the second, could not take his
eyes from the charming maid.

"Seigneur," answered Father Clement, "I gave orders that, after being
severely whipped, the three slaves, father, mother and daughter, be sold
and taken far away from the convent. One of those slave-dealers who
travel through the country came this morning to offer me two carpenters
and a smith that we stand in need of. I offered him the young girl in
exchange together with her father and mother. But Mordecai refused the
exchange."

"Mordecai!" involuntarily exclaimed Berthoald, whose face, suddenly
turning pale, now expressed as much fear as anxiety. "That Jew!"

"What the devil is the matter with you?" said Charles to the young man.
"You look as white as your cloak."

Berthoald sought to control his emotions, dropped his eyes and answered
in a quivering voice: "The horror that these accursed Jews inspire me
with is such ... that I can not see them, or even hear their names
mentioned, without shuddering, despite myself." Saying this, Berthoald
quickly took his casque from the table and put it on his head, pushing
it down as far as he could so that the visor might conceal his face.

"I can understand your horror for the Jews," replied Charles; "I share
your aversion for