hus those of the true faith were obliged to leave the field to us,
on which a great number of their friends remained lying.--I could not
discern my poor, dear son; he may very likely have gone with the main
body of the troops; if they have not already slain, or taken him
prisoner."

"And Martin! the boy, of whom you spoke, who so valiantly saved my
son's life?" inquired the Lord of Beauvais.

"Martin;" cried the doctor aloud: "where then do you hide yourself?
yes, that's true indeed, you are both indebted to the stripling. He
wore, when he entered, a thick handkerchief round his head, it may have
been from a blow that reached him; after he had rescued your son, he
received a right deep cut in the head again from a sabre, so that a
stream of blood gushed out. As if for a change, he wiped his nose and
without ceremony bound a second turban over the first, though he turned
ghastly pale from it.--Martin! Where then is the rascal!" But there was
no one to answer his call. "Thus is it with foolish youth," said the
doctor vexedly: "he has misunderstood me about taking back the horse,
and in his simplicity returned immediately. Poor youth! I trust no
fever may be added to it."

"It would make me miserable," said the Counsellor, "if I should not be
able to testify my thanks to the dear boy. If I were persuaded that he
was suffering, ill, helpless, or dying, I should weep tears of blood."

"It will not turn out so bad as that," muttered Vila chagrined: "Why
should the oaf run off thus, as if----Aye! Aye! at least I would have
bound up his wounds for him. But now, the devil will not catch him
directly. Such Camisard webs are usually formed of very tough
materials."

"They were compelled to proceed again, in order to reach with safety
the solitary village in the mountain heights." "You must know," said
the doctor, when they were again seated in the coach, "that it is
merely to an old maidservant of mine I am now conducting you, a simple
person, who served me long, but who is, however, so faithful and
honest, that it is almost a scandal, what perhaps many free thinking
exquisites would say of her. She has married a gardener, or peasant,
who also plays the surgeon in the mountains. There you will pass for an
old invalid cousin, whose house and farm the Camisards have set fire
to; you will find your daughter there already, the intelligent child
however must not betray you; the husband and wife would suffer
themselves to be torn