, the Widow Noemi Laurent gladly closed the shutters of
her unglazed window, where small cakes and other delicate confections
were displayed, and felt the genial warmth of the little fire with which
she heated her tiny oven. She was the widow of a pastor who had suffered
for his faith in the last open persecution, and being the daughter of a
baker, the authorities of the town had permitted her to support herself
and her son by carrying on a trade in the more delicate 'subtilties' of
the art, which were greatly relished at the civic feasts. Noemi was a
grave, sad woman, very lonely ever since she had saved enough to send
her son to study for the ministry in Switzerland, and with an aching
heart that longed to be at rest from the toil that she looked on as a
steep ladder on her way to a better home. She occupied two tiny rooms
on the ground-floor of a tall house; and she had just arranged her few
articles of furniture with the utmost neatness, when there was a low
knock at her door, a knock that the persecuted well understood, and as
she lifted the latch, a voice she had known of old spoke the scriptural
salutation, 'Peace be with this house.'

'_Eh quoi_, Master Issac, is it thou? Come in--in a good hour--ah!'

As, dripping all round his broad hat and from every thread of his gray
mantle, the aged traveller drew into the house a female figure whom he
had been supporting on his other arm, muffled head and shoulders in a
soaked cloak, with a petticoat streaming with wet, and feet and ankles
covered with mire, 'Here we are, my child,' he said tenderly, as he
almost carried her to Noemi's chair. Noemi, with kind exclamations of
'_La pauvre_! _la pauvre_!' helped the trembling cold hand to open the
wet cloak, and then cried out with fresh surprise and pity at the sight
of the fresh little infant face, nestled warm and snug under all the
wrappings in those weary arms.

'See,' said the poor wanderer, looking up to the old man, with a faint
smile; 'she is well--she is warm--it hurts her not.'

'Can you take us in?' added M. Gardon, hastily; 'have you room?'

'Oh yes; if you can sleep on the floor here, I will take this poor dear
to my own bed directly,' said Noemi. '_Tenez_' opening a chest; 'you
will find dry clothes there, of my husband's. And thou,' helping
Eustacie up with her strong arm, and trying to take the little one, 'let
me warm and dry thee within.'

Too much worn out to make resistance, almost past speaking, kn