m that she lives.'

'Come, Phil, it will be the devil indeed that sows dissension between
us,' said Berenger. 'You know well enough that were it indeed with my
poor Eustacie as they would fain have us believe, rather than give
up her fair name I would not in prison for life. Or would you have me
renounce my faith, or wed Madame de Selinville upon the witness of a
pool of ink that I am a widower?' he added, almost laughing.

'For that matter,' muttered Philip, a good deal ashamed and half
affronted, 'you know I value the Protestant faith so that I never heard
a word from the will old priest. Nevertheless, the boy, when I asked of
our release, saw the gates set open by Love.'

'What did Love look like in the pool? Had he wings like the Cupids in
the ballets at the Louvre?' asked Berenger provokingly.

'I tell you I saw nothing,' said Philip, tartly: 'this was the Italian's
interpretation of the boy's gesture. It was to be by means of love, he
said, and of a lady who---he made it plain enough who she was,' added
the boy, colouring.

'No doubt, as the Chevalier have instructed him to say that I--I--' he
hesitated, 'that my--my love--I mean that he saw my shield per pale with
the field fretty and the sable leopard.'

'Oh! it is to be my daughter, is it?' said Berenger, laughing; 'I am
very happy to entertain your proposals for her.'

'Berenger, what mocking fiend has possessed you?' cried Philip, half
angrily, half pitifully. 'How can you so speak of that poor child?'

'Because the more they try to force on me the story of her fate, the
plainer it is to me that they do not believe it. I shall find her yet,
and then, Phil, you shall have the first chance.'

Philip growled.

'Well, Phil,' said his brother, good-humouredly, 'any way, till this
Love comes that is to let us out, don't let Moor or fiend come between
us. Let me keep my credence for the honest Bailli's daughters at Lucon;
and remember I would give my life to free you, but I cannot give away my
faith.' Philip bent his head. He was of too stubborn a mould to express
contrition or affection, but he mused for five minutes, then called
Humfrey, and at the last moment, as the heavy tread came up-stairs, he
turned round and said, 'You're in the right on't there, Berry. Hap what
hap, the foul fiend may carry off the conjurer before I murmur at you
again! Still I wish you had seen him. You would know 'tis sooth.'

While Berenger, in his prison chamber, with the l