calmly went on reading the Latin prayers for the last five minutes, and
now she could contain her questionings no longer.

"You said just now that they set you to watch over me..."

"So they did, my child, so they did..." he replied with a sigh, as he
quietly closed his book and slipped it back into his pocket. "Ah! they
are very cunning... and we must remember that they have the power. No
doubt," added the old man, with his own, quaint philosophy, "no doubt le
bon Dieu meant them to have the power, or they would not have it, would
they?"

"By 'they' you mean the Terrorists and Anarchists of France,
M. L'Abbe.... The Committee of Public Safety who pillage and murder,
outrage women, and desecrate religion.... Is that not so?"

"Alas! my child!" he sighed.

"And it is 'they' who have set you to watch over me?... I confess I
don't understand..."

She laughed, quite involuntarily indeed, for in spite of the reassurance
in her heart her brain was still in a whirl of passionate anxiety.

"You don't look at all like one of 'them,' M. l'Abbe," she said.

"The good God forbid!" ejaculated the old man, raising protesting hands
up toward the very distant, quite invisible sky. "How could I, a humble
priest of the Lord, range myself with those who would flout and defy
Him."

"Yet I am a prisoner of the Republic and you are my jailer, M. l'Abbe."

"Ah, yes!" he sighed. "But I am very helpless. This was my cell. I had
been here with Francois and Felicite, my sister's children, you know.
Innocent lambs, whom those fiends would lead to slaughter. Last night,"
he continued, speaking volubly, "the soldiers came in and dragged
Francois and Felicite out of this room, where, in spite of the danger
before us, in spite of what we suffered, we had contrived to be quite
happy together. I could read the Mass, and the dear children would say
their prayers night and morning at my knee."

He paused awhile. The unshed tears in his mild blue eyes struggled
for freedom now, and one or two flowed slowly down his wrinkled cheek.
Marguerite, though heartsore and full of agonizing sorrow herself, felt
her whole noble soul go out to this kind old man, so pathetic, so high
and simple-minded in his grief.

She said nothing, however, and the Abbe continued after a few seconds'
silence.

"When the children had gone, they brought you in here, mon enfant, and
laid you on the paillasse where Felicite used to sleep. You looked
very white, and stri