rnoon, I chose to saunter by the river rather than walk, for I
wished to conserve my strength, which was now vastly increased, though,
to mislead my watchers and the authorities, I assumed the delicacy of an
invalid, and appeared unfit for any enterprise--no hard task, for I was
still very thin and worn.

So I sat upon a favourite seat on the cliff, set against a solitary
tree, fixed in the rocks. I gazed long on the river, and my guards,
stoutly armed, stood near, watching me, and talking in low tones. Eager
to hear their gossip, I appeared to sleep. They came nearer, and, facing
me, sat upon a large stone, and gossiped freely concerning the strange
sounds heard in my room at the chateau.

"See you, my Bamboir," said the lean to the fat soldier, "the British
captain, he is to be carried off in burning flames by that La Jongleuse.
We shall come in one morning and find a smell of sulphur only, and a
circle of red on the floor where the imps danced before La Jongleuse
said to them, 'Up with him, darlings, and away!'"

At this Bamboir shook his head, and answered, "To-morrow I'll to the
Governor, and tell him what's coming. My wife, she falls upon my neck
this morning. 'Argose,' she says, ''twill need the bishop and his
college to drive La Jongleuse out of the grand chateau.'"

"No less," replied the other. "A deacon and sacred palm and sprinkle
of holy water would do for a cottage, or even for a little manor house,
with twelve candles burning, and a hymn to the Virgin. But in a king's
house--"

"It's not the King's house."

"But yes, it is the King's house, though his Most Christian Majesty
lives in France. The Marquis de Vaudreuil stands for the King, and we
are sentinels in the King's house. But, my faith, I'd rather be
fighting against Frederick, the Prussian boar, than watching this mad
Englishman."

"But see you, my brother, that Englishman's a devil. Else how has he not
been hanged long ago? He has vile arts to blind all, or he would not be
sitting there. It is well known that M'sieu' Doltaire, even the King's
son--his mother worked in the fields like your Nanette, Bamboir--"

"Or your Lablanche, my friend. She has hard hands, with warts, and red
knuckles therefrom--"

"Or your Nanette, Bamboir, with nose that blisters in the summer, as she
goes swingeing flax, and swelling feet that sweat in sabots, and chin
thrust out from carrying pails upon her head--"

"Ay, like Nanette and like Lablanche, this peas