or bread to eat, died like flies at the approach of
winter. Wolves entered the outlying parts of the town, devouring little
children. At this sad juncture, Robin came to inform the Bishop that not
only was he unable to provide any further sum of money, however small,
but that being unable to obtain anything from his debtors, and being
pressed by his creditors, he had been compelled to hand over all his
assets to the Jews.

He brought this distressing news to his benefactor with the obsequious
politeness which was usual to him; but he appeared a great deal less
afflicted than he might have been in this grevions extremity. As a
matter of fact, he was hard put to it to conceal, under a long face, his
joyous feelings and his lively satisfaction. The parchment of his dry,
humble, yellow eyelids ill concealed the light of joy which shone from
his sharp eyes.

Sadly stricken, St. Nicolas remained quiet and serene under the blow.

"God will soon re-establish our declining affairs," he said. "He will
not permit the house which He has built to be overthrown."

"That is true," said Modernus, "but you may be sure that Robin, whom you
drew out of the salting-tub, has made an arrangement with the Lombards
of Pont-Vieux and the Jews of the Ghetto to despoil you, and that he is
retaining the lion's share of the plunder."

Modernus spoke the truth. Robin had lost no money. He was richer than
ever, and had just been appointed treasurer to the King.

CHAPTER IV

AT this time Mirande was nearing the close of her seventeenth year.
She was beautiful, and well grown. An air of purity, innocence, and
artlessness hung round her like a veil. The length of her eyelashes,
which barred her blue eyes, and the childlike smallness of her mouth,
gave the impression that evil could never find means to enter into her.
Her ears were so tiny, so fine, so finished and so delicate, that the
least modest of men could never have dared to breathe into them any but
the most innocent of speeches. In the whole of Ver-vigbole no virgin
inspired so much respect, and none had greater need to do so, for she
was marvellously simple, credulous, and defenceless.

The pious Bishop Nicolas, her uncle, cherished her more dearly every
day, and was more deeply attached to her than one should be to any of
God's creatures. He loved her, undoubtedly, in God; but he also loved
her for herself; he took great delight in her, and he loved to love her;
it was his only