dow, and all around us was a velvet darkness, except
where, here and there, a lamp, hanging to a rope slung across the
street, cast a feeble and uncertain glow. Some dim figures moved
before us, and occasionally we heard a footfall behind. That was all.

We had come to the fifth door on our right. It lay in the black
darkness, faced by the huge blank wall of the Mathurins, and not a ray
gleamed from any of the windows. All was silent as the grave.

"This is the place," I said, and we stopped.

"Are you sure?" whispered mademoiselle. "It looks deserted; perhaps
they have been warned."

But, even as she spoke, we heard faint voices singing. The sound
seemed to rise from beneath our feet, and muffled and far distant rose
the sweet, solemn chant of the Huguenot hymn: "When Israel went forth
from Egypt."

"They are there!" And mademoiselle's fingers tightened on my arm.

For answer I was about to step up to the door when hurrying feet came
towards us. I pulled mademoiselle back into the deepest shadow, and as
I did so two dark figures appeared, and halted before the door. Like
us, all unknowing we were so near, they stopped too, listening to the
hymn, and after a little one of the two began to sing.

"Hush!" said the other; but the singer answered fiercely:

"I care not, nor do I fear to give my testimony to the Lord."

But now the hymn ended, and the two went to the door. This was my
chance, and so, with mademoiselle on my arm, I boldly stepped up and
joined them. They turned on us as we came; but I allayed their fears.

"Messieurs, we have come as you have. See! There is a lady with me."

"Then you are well come," answered one, and with that he tapped softly
at the door. A shutter opened, and a voice asked:

"Why come ye?"

"For the faith," was the reply.

"Enter, then!" With these words the door swung back, and one by one we
passed in, I being the last. The door was immediately closed and
barred after us, and we found ourselves in the presence of a small,
pale-faced man, who peered at us with blinking eyes. The two strangers
went on at once, after a word of greeting; but, throwing back her hood,
mademoiselle placed her hand on the arm of the little man, saying:

"Ferrieres, do you not know me?"

His dim eyes searched her through the dim light, and an exclamation
broke from him.

"Mademoiselle! You! There will be many a glad face to-night. Almost
all of us are here."

"Hush!" she s