. He
does not quench the smoking flax, Jean. Did you not hear madame say,
'Help me, for the love of Christ?' Good! There is the smoking flax,
which may burn into a flame brighter than yours or mine some day, my
poor friend. We must make her and the _mignonne_ as welcome as if they
were good Catholics. She is very poor, cela saute aux yeux--"

"Monsieur," I interrupted, feeling almost guilty in having listened so
far, "I understand French very well, though I speak it badly."

"Pardon, madame!" he replied, "I hope you will not be grieved by the
foolish words we have been speaking one to the other."

After that all was still again for some time, except the tinkling of the
bells, and the pad-pad of the horse's feet upon the steep and rugged
road. Hills rose on each side of us, which were thickly planted with
trees. Even the figures of the cure and driver were no longer well
defined in the denser darkness. Minima had laid her head on my shoulder,
and seemed to be asleep. By-and-by a village clock striking echoed
faintly down the valley; and the cure turned round and addressed me
again.

"There is my village, madame," he said, stretching forth his hand to
point it out, though we could not see a yard beyond the _char a bancs_;
"it is very small, and my parish contains but four hundred and
twenty-two souls, some of them very little ones. They all know me, and
regard me as a father. They love me, though I have some rebel sons.--Is
it not so, Jean? Rebel sons, but not many rebel daughters. Here we are!"

We entered a narrow and roughly-paved village-street. The houses, as I
saw afterward, were all huddled together, with a small church at the
point farthest from the entrance; and the road ended at its porch, as if
there were no other place in the world beyond it.

As we clattered along the dogs barked, and the cottage-doors flew open.
Children toddled to the thresholds, and called after us, in shrill
notes, "Good-evening, and a good-night, Monsieur le Cure!" Men's voices,
deeper and slower, echoed the salutation. The cure was busy greeting
each one in return: "Good-night, my little rogue," "Good-night, my
lamb." "Good-night to all of you, my friends;" his cordial voice making
each word sound as if it came from his very heart. I felt that we were
perfectly secure in his keeping.

Never, as long as I live, shall I smell the pungent, pleasant scent of
wood burning without recalling to my memory that darksome entrance into
Vil