aged woman, who sat still in
a niche carved out of the rock. He noticed above the niche some rough
carving on the stone representing three trees with their branches
touching, and forming a sort of crown; lower down were three toads cut in
the granite. Three trees are the arms of the Tribocci (_dreien buechen_),
three toads are the arms of the Merovingian kings.

What was the surprise of the old chronicler! Covetousness now took the
place of alarm.

"Here," thought he, "is the oldest monument of the Frankish race in Gaul.
That old woman reminds me of some fallen queen, left here a relic of ages
long gone by. But how am I to carry the niche away?"

He began to consider.

Then was heard far away in the woods the trampling of the hoofs of
many cattle and deep bellowing. The rain fell faster; the flashes of
lightning, like flights of frightened birds in the dark, touched each
other by the tips of their wings; one never waited for another to be
gone, and the rolling of the thunder became incessant and terrible.

Soon the storm reached the very gorge of Nideck and hung over it closely,
and swooped down with implacable fury; the explosions succeeded each
other without intermission. It seemed as if the very mountains were
falling.

At every fresh crash Uncle Bernard shrank, feeling as if the lightning
were coming down his back.

"The first Triboceus who built a hut to cover his head was no fool,"
thought he. "He was a sensible man, with some experience of atmospheric
changes. What would have become of us in this emergency had we not a roof
over our heads? We should be greatly to be pitied. The invention of that
Triboccus was quite as useful as that of the steam-engine; what a pity
his name is not known!"

The worthy man had scarcely concluded his reflections when a young maiden
of sixteen, wearing a very wide-brimmed straw hat, her white skirts
dripping with rain and her little bare feet covered with sand, advanced
to the doorstep, and said--

"The Lord bless you!"

"Amen," answered Christian solemnly.

This young girl was of the purest Scandinavian type, with cheeks of rose
pink upon a face of pure whiteness, and long waving tresses, so fair and
so silky that the finest wheat straw would hardly bear comparison with
it. Her figure was tall and slender, and her blue eyes beamed with
inexpressible sweetness.

Maitre Bernard stood a few moments in rapt admiration, and the woodman,
kindly addressing the young girl, s