again. Overcome as she was, she went and brought me a
peasant's hat and coat. Such trust and kindness touched me. Trembling,
she took from me the coat and hat I had worn, and she put her hands
before her eyes when she saw a little spot of blood upon the flap of
a pocket. The old man reached out his hands, and, taking them, he held
them on his knees, whispering to himself.

"You will be safe here," the wife said to me. "The loft above is small,
but it will hide you, if you have no better place."

I was thankful that I had told her all the truth. I should be snug here,
awaiting the affair in the cathedral on the morrow. There was Voban, but
I knew not of him, or whether he was open to aid or shelter me. His
own safety had been long in peril; he might be dead, for all I knew. I
thanked the poor woman warmly, and then asked her if the old man might
not betray me to strangers. She bade me leave all that to her--that I
should be safe for a while, at least.

Soon afterwards I went abroad, and made my way by a devious route to
Voban's house. As I did so, I could see the lights of our fleet in
the Basin, and the camp-fires of our army on the Levis shore, on Isle
Orleans, and even at Montmorenci, and the myriad lights in the French
encampment at Beauport. How impossible it all looked--to unseat from
this high rock the Empire of France! Ay, and how hard it would be to get
out of this same city with Alixe!

Voban's house stood amid a mass of ruins, itself broken a little, but
still sound enough to live in. There was no light. I clambered over
debris, made my way to his bedroom window, and tapped on the shutter.
There was no response. I tried to open it, but it would not stir. So
I thrust beneath it, on the chance of his finding it if he opened the
casement in the morning, a little piece of paper, with one word upon
it--the name of his brother. He knew my handwriting, and he would guess
where to-morrow would find me, for I had also hastily drawn upon the
paper the entrance of the cathedral.

I went back to the little house by the cathedral, and was admitted by
the stricken wife. The old man was abed. I climbed up to the small loft,
and lay there wide-awake for hours. At last came the sounds that I
had waited for, and presently I knew by the tramp beneath, and by low
laments floating up, that a wife was mourning over the dead body of her
husband. I lay long and listened to the varying sounds, but at last all
became still, and I