aith had not cast out all the old
superstitious nature; yet it was this vague spiritual presence which
supported him under the crushing and unnatural conditions of his social
life. He endured, as seeing one who is invisible.

Yet at other times he could not keep his feet away from the little
street where all the life there was might be found. At night he would
creep cautiously along the ramparts and descend by a quiet staircase
into an angle of the walls, where he could look on unseen upon the
gathering of townsfolk in the inn where he had often gone with his
father in earlier days. The landlord, Nicolas, was a most bitter enemy
now. There was the familiar room filled with bright light from an
oil-lamp and the brighter flicker of a wood fire where the landlord's
wife was cooking. A deep, low recess in the corner, with a crimson
valance stretched across it, held a bed with snow-white pillows, upon
one of which rested a child's curly head with eyes fast sealed against
the glare of the lamp. At a table close by sat the landlord and three
or four of the wealthier men of the Mont busily and seriously eating the
omelets and fried fish served to them from the pan over the fire.

The copper and brass cooking utensils glittered in the light from the
walls where they hung. It was a cheery scene, and Michel would stand
in his cold, dark corner, watching it until all was over and the guests
ready to depart.

"Thou art Michel _le diable_!" said a childish voice to him one evening,
and he felt a small, warm hand laid for an instant upon his own. It
was Delphine, Nicolas's eldest girl, a daring child, full of spirit and
courage; yet even she shrank back a step or two after touching him, and
stood as if ready to take flight.

"I am Michel Lorio," he answered, in a quiet, pleasant voice, which won
her back to his side. "Why dost thou call me Michel _le diable_?"

"All the world calls thee that," answered Delphine; "thou art a heretic.
See, I am a good Christian. I say my ave and paternoster every night; if
thou wilt do the same thing, no one will call thee Michel _le diable_."

"Thou art not afraid of me?" he asked, for the child put her hand again
on his.

"No, no! thou art not the real devil!" she said, "and _maman_ has put my
name on the register of the monument; so the great archangel St. Michel
will deliver me from all evil. What canst thou do? Canst thou turn
children into cats? or canst thou walk across the sea without bei