reat sights of the
Parisians at the storehouse of Rully. Eighty thousand armed men, thirty
thousand white harnesses, short coats or coats of mail; the sixty-seven
banners of the trades; the standards of the parliaments, of the chamber
of accounts, of the treasury of the generals, of the aides of the mint;
a devilish fine array, in short! I will conduct you to see the lions of
the Hotel du Roi, which are wild beasts. All women love that."

* Varieties of the crossbow.

For several moments the young girl, absorbed in her charming thoughts,
was dreaming to the sound of his voice, without listening to the sense
of his words.

"Oh! how happy you will be!" continued the captain, and at the same time
he gently unbuckled the gypsy's girdle.

"What are you doing?" she said quickly. This "act of violence" had
roused her from her revery.

"Nothing," replied Phoebus, "I was only saying that you must abandon all
this garb of folly, and the street corner when you are with me."

"When I am with you, Phoebus!" said the young girl tenderly.

She became pensive and silent once more.

The captain, emboldened by her gentleness, clasped her waist without
resistance; then began softly to unlace the poor child's corsage, and
disarranged her tucker to such an extent that the panting priest beheld
the gypsy's beautiful shoulder emerge from the gauze, as round and brown
as the moon rising through the mists of the horizon.

The young girl allowed Phoebus to have his way. She did not appear to
perceive it. The eye of the bold captain flashed.

Suddenly she turned towards him,--

"Phoebus," she said, with an expression of infinite love, "instruct me
in thy religion."

"My religion!" exclaimed the captain, bursting with laughter, "I
instruct you in my religion! _Corne et tonnerre_! What do you want with
my religion?"

"In order that we may be married," she replied.

The captain's face assumed an expression of mingled surprise and
disdain, of carelessness and libertine passion.

"Ah, bah!" said he, "do people marry?"

The Bohemian turned pale, and her head drooped sadly on her breast.

"My beautiful love," resumed Phoebus, tenderly, "what nonsense is this?
A great thing is marriage, truly! one is none the less loving for not
having spit Latin into a priest's shop!"

While speaking thus in his softest voice, he approached extremely near
the gypsy; his caressing hands resumed their place around her supple and
delicate wa