hood. It is a common thing in southern climes.
The storm which broke out at Notre Dame destroyed the belfry; the church
of Roquefort was demolished by a bolt of lightning, the spire of Saint
Pierre was ruined. The storm was followed by a tempest of hail and rain.
Agen was engulfed by the waters; her bridge was destroyed,{8} and many
of the neighbouring vineyards were devastated. And all this ruin was
laid at the door of poor Franconnette!

The neighbours--her worst enemies--determined to burn the daughter of
the Huguenot out of her cottage. The grandmother first heard the cries
of the villagers: "Fire them, let them both burn together." Franconnette
rushed to the door and pleaded for mercy. "Go back," cried the crowd,
"you must both roast together." They set fire to the rick outside and
then proceeded to fire the thatch of the cottage. "Hold, hold!" cried
a stern voice, and Pascal rushed in amongst them. "Cowards! would you
murder two defenceless women? Tigers that you are, would you fire and
burn them in their dwelling?"

Marcel too appeared; he had not yet given up the hope of winning
Franconnette's love. He now joined Pascal in defending her and the
old dame, and being a soldier of Montluc, he was a powerful man in the
neighbourhood. The girl was again asked to choose between the two. At
last, after refusing any marriage under present circumstances, she clung
to Pascal. "I would have died alone," she said, "but since you will have
it so, I resist no longer. It is our fate; we will die together." Pascal
was willing to die with her, and turning to Marcel he said: "I have been
more fortunate than you, but you are a brave man and you will forgive
me. I have no friend, but will you act as a squire and see me to my
grave?" After struggling with his feelings, Marcel at last said: "Since
it is her wish, I will be your friend."

A fortnight later, the marriage between the unhappy lovers took place.
Every one foreboded disaster. The wedding procession went down the green
hill towards the church of Notre Dame. There was no singing, no dancing,
no merriment, as was usual on such occasions. The rustics shuddered at
heart over the doom of Pascal. The soldier Marcel marched at the head of
the wedding-party. At the church an old woman appeared, Pascal's mother.
She flung her arms about him and adjured him to fly from his false
bride, for his marriage would doom him to death. She even fell at the
feet of her son and said that he sh