people ran by all
blood and shrieking--and there was a glare in the sky--and nobody came
home--till at last it grew so dreadful that we hid in the cellar to hear
and see nothing. Only it grew hotter and hotter, and the light through
the little grating was red. And at last there was a noise louder than
thunder, and, oh, such a shaking--for it was the house falling down. But
we did not know that; we tried to open the door, and could not; then
we cried and called for father and mother--and no one heard--and we sat
still for fear, till we slept--and then it was all dark, and we were
very hungry. I don't know how time went, but at last, when I was
daylight again, there was a talking above, a little baby crying, and
a kind voice too; and then we called out, 'Oh, take us out and give us
bread.' Then a face looked down the grating. Oh, it was like the face
of an angel to us, with all the white hair flying round. It was the
holy priest of Nissard; and when one of the cruel men said we were only
little heretics who ought to die like rats in a hole, he said we were
but innocents who did not know the difference.

'Ah! we did,' said the elder girl. 'You are younger, sister, you forget
more;' and then, holding out her hands to Berenger, she exclaimed, 'Ah!
sir, take us away with you.

'My child!' exclaimed the Prioress, 'you told me you were happy to be in
the good course.

'Oh yes!' cried the poor child; 'but I don't want to be happy! I am
forgetting all my poor father and mother used to say. I can't help it,
and they would be so grieved. Oh, take me away, sir!

'Take care, Agathe, you will be a relapsed heretic,' said her sister,
solemnly. 'For me, I am a true Catholic. I love the beautiful images and
the processions.

'Ah! but what would our mother have said!' cried poor Agathe, weeping
more bitterly.

'Poor child, her old recollections have been renewed,' said the
Prioress, with unchanged sweetness; 'but it will pass. My dear, the
gentleman will tell you that it is as impossible for him to take you as
it is for me to let you go.

'It is so, truly, little one,' said Berenger. 'The only little girl I
cold have taken with me would have been my own;' and as her eyes looked
at him wistfully, he added, 'No doubt, if your poor mother could, she
would thank this good Mother-prioress for teaching you to serve God and
be a good child.

'Monsieur speaks well and kindly,' said the Prioress; 'and now, Agathe,
make your curtsey, an