Levina deemed it prudent to bring up apple-pie without
sauce piquante, and to serve gateaux unmixed with pepper or anchovies.

Abraham became eloquent in his thanks for the kindness shown to his
daughter, and the tears were in Belasez's eyes when she took leave.

"Farewell, my maid," said the Countess, addressing the latter. "Thou
art a fair girl, and thou hast been a good girl. I shall miss thy
pretty face in Magot's ante-chamber. We shall meet again, I doubt not.
Such work as thine is not to be lightly esteemed.--Wilt thou grudge thy
treasure to me, if I ask for her again?" she added, turning to Abraham
with a smile.

"Surely not, my Lady! My Lady has been as an angel of God to my
darling."

"And remember, both of you, that if ye come into any trouble--as may
be--and thou seekest safe shelter for thy bird, I will give it her at
any time, in return for her lovely work."

This was a greater boon than it may appear. Troubles were only too
likely to assail a Jewish household, and to know a place where Belasez
could seek shelter and be certain of finding it, was a comfort indeed,
and might at any hour be a most terrible necessity.

Abraham kissed the robe of the Countess, and poured out eloquent
blessings on her. Belasez kissed her hand and that of Margaret: but the
tears choked the girl's voice as she turned to follow her father.

The arguments against idolatry which Margaret had heard from Belasez
were ghosts easily laid by Father Nicholas. A few vague platitudes
concerning the supreme authority committed to the Apostle Peter, and
through him to the Papacy (Father Nicholas discreetly left both points
unencumbered by evidence),--the wickedness of listening to sceptical
reasonings, and the happiness of implicit obedience to holy Church,--
were quite enough to reduce Belasez's arguments, as they remained in
Margaret's mind, to the condition of uncomfortable reminiscences, which,
being also wicked, it was best to forget as soon as possible.

But there had been one listener to that conversation, of whom neither
party took account, and who could not forget it. This was Doucebelle de
Vaux. In her brain the words of the young Jewess took root and
germinated, but so silently, that no one suspected it but herself.
Father Nicholas had not the faintest idea of the importance of the
question, when one morning, during the Latin lesson which he
administered twice a week to the young ladies of the Castle, Doucebelle
as