owing
merely that she had reached the goal that had been promised her
throughout these weary days, feeling warmth, and hearing kind tones,
Eustacie submitted to be led into the inner room; and when the good
widow returned again, it was in haste to fetch some of the warm _potage_
she had already been cooking over the fire, and hastily bade M. Gardon
help himself to the rest. She came back again with the babe, to wash
and dress it in the warmth of her oven fire. Maitre Gardon, in the black
suit of a Calvinist pastor, had eaten his _potage_, and was anxiously
awaiting her report. 'Ah! _la pauvre_, with His blessing she will sleep!
she will do well. But how far did you come to-day?'

'From Sainte Lucie. From the Grange du Temple since Monday.'

'Ah! is it possible? The poor child! And this little one--sure, it is
scarce four weeks old?'

'Four weeks this coming Sunday.'

'Ah! the poor thing. The blessing of Heaven must have been with you to
bear her through. And what a lovely infant--how white--what beauteous
little limbs! Truly, she has sped well. Little did I think, good friend,
that you had this comfort left, or that our poor Theodore's young wife
had escaped.'

'Alas! no, Noemi; this is no child of Theodore's. His wife shared his
martyrdom. It is I who am escaped alone to tell thee. But, nevertheless,
this babe is an orphan of that same day. Her father was the son of the
pious Baron de Ribaumont, the patron of your husband, and of myself in
earlier days.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Noemi, startled. 'Then the poor young mother--is
she--can she be the lost Demoiselle de Nid de Merle?'

'Is the thing known here? The will of Heaven be done; but she can send
to her husband's kindred in England.'

'She might rest safely enough, if others beside myself believed in
her being your son's widow,' said Noemi. 'Wherefore should she not be
thought so?'

'Poor Esperance! She would willingly have lent her name to guard
another,' said Master Gardon, thoughtfully; 'and, for the sake of
the child, my little lady may endure it. Ah! there is the making of a
faithful and noble woman in that poor young thing. Bravely, patiently,
cheerfully, hath she plodded this weary way; and, verily, she hath grown
like my own daughter to me--as I never thought to love earthly thing
again; and had this been indeed my Theodore's child, I could hardly care
for it more.'

And as he related how he had fallen in with the forlorn Lady of
Ribaumont, and all th