stop it up. She beheld a large troop of armed
men, both horse and foot, drawn up on the Greve.

The commander dismounted, and came toward her.

"Old woman!" said this man, who had an atrocious face, "we are in search
of a witch to hang her; we were told that you had her."

The poor mother assumed as indifferent an air as she could, and
replied,--

"I know not what you mean."

The other resumed, "_Tete Dieu_! What was it that frightened archdeacon
said? Where is he?"

"Monseigneur," said a soldier, "he has disappeared."

"Come, now, old madwoman," began the commander again, "do not lie. A
sorceress was given in charge to you. What have you done with her?"

The recluse did not wish to deny all, for fear of awakening suspicion,
and replied in a sincere and surly tone,--

"If you are speaking of a big young girl who was put into my hands a
while ago, I will tell you that she bit me, and that I released her.
There! Leave me in peace."

The commander made a grimace of disappointment. "Don't lie to me, old
spectre!" said he. "My name is Tristan l'Hermite, and I am the king's
gossip. Tristan the Hermit, do you hear?" He added, as he glanced at the
Place de Greve around him, "'Tis a name which has an echo here."

"You might be Satan the Hermit," replied Gudule, who was regaining hope,
"but I should have nothing else to say to you, and I should never be
afraid of you."

"_Tete-Dieu_," said Tristan, "here is a crone! Ah! So the witch girl
hath fled! And in which direction did she go?" Gudule replied in a
careless tone,--

"Through the Rue du Mouton, I believe."

Tristan turned his head and made a sign to his troop to prepare to set
out on the march again. The recluse breathed freely once more.

"Monseigneur," suddenly said an archer, "ask the old elf why the bars of
her window are broken in this manner."

This question brought anguish again to the heart of the miserable
mother. Nevertheless, she did not lose all presence of mind.

"They have always been thus," she stammered.

"Bah!" retorted the archer, "only yesterday they still formed a fine
black cross, which inspired devotion."

Tristan east a sidelong glance at the recluse.

"I think the old dame is getting confused!"

The unfortunate woman felt that all depended on her self-possession,
and, although with death in her soul, she began to grin. Mothers possess
such strength.

"Bah!" said she, "the man is drunk. 'Tis more than a year since the tail