f the dens
were still in use for the bulls that were baited on Sundays, and others
seemed lairs for rogues and vagabonds; but there was many a corner
which, as I said to my mother, would afford a good hiding-place in time
of danger, and one, especially, in which I thought a fugitive might defy
detection (though _I_ had detected it).

Well, we hunted high and low, but could not find little Jules. His
mother was distracted: we feared she would lose her reason altogether.
Madeleine devoted herself to her like an angel; neighbors were full of
compassion--those of our own persuasion, I mean; for the Catholics
mocked her and said, "Go seek him in the Jews' quarter. The Jew baker's
daughter has, doubtless, made him into pies. Go seek him in their secret
assemblies--in their cellars--in their slaughter-houses--doubtless they
are fattening him for their Passover." Conceive the anguish of the
mother.

At length she found he was not dead. Her heart leaped for joy. But
when she found how the case stood with him, she was ready to wish
him dead and numbered among the little children that follow the Lamb
whithersoever he goeth. Jules had been kidnapped and tampered with by
the Catholics. The little apostate had been taught to curse his parents.

The case occasioned a great deal of talk in Nismes at the time;
unhappily, similar kidnappings made it soon forgotten, except by the
family.

One day, when I had been hunting for him, I came suddenly on the young
man who had stared so rudely at Gabrielle at Beaucaire. I was sorry to
see him in Nismes. I did not like the look of him, with his narrow head,
low forehead, and eyes too near his nose, though otherwise he was well
enough. Returning to our factory, I found him just coming out of it.
I said to my father, "Who is that?" He said, "A troublesome fellow,
I think, but he brought a message from your uncle Nicolas. He is called
Martin Prunevaux. He asked me all manner of impertinent questions, and,
if he fall in with you, may ask you as many; but remember Jaques Coeur's
motto,

"'En close bouche
N'entre mouche--'

"And again, 'Dire, faire, taire.'"

"Ay, ay, father, you may depend on me," said I, heartily.

Sometimes, before I went to bed, I stepped out to get a glimpse of the
light in Madeleine's window. I should observe, it was also Gabrielle's,
for the sisters shared the same room. The moon cast strong lights and
shadows, and I kept in the shade till close to the house, when