“Here’s a pretty lady,” cried a gipsy woman, as Madeleine shrank back affrighted.

“Welcome, welcome!” cried one or two voices.  “Come and make one of us.”

“Not so fast,” said a dissentient voice.  “There’s a young man with her.  How do we know he is not a spy?”

“Good sir, I am lame on both feet,” said I, and was turning away with Madeleine, both of us anxious to plunge into the darkness, out of their sight, when a threatening, swarthy man, of great strength, prevented our departure.

“You are neither of you going,” said he, defiantly, “till you give some account of yourselves and your object.”

“We are harmless people; we have only mistaken our way,” interposed Madeleine.

“Soho!  Only mistaken your way?  And how come harmless people to be abroad at this time of night, groping about among the vaults of Les Arenes?”

Before there was time to answer, a tall, lean man in black, with a bottle in his hand, which he had just removed from his lips, came forward from a corner, and said.  “Hold, there, enough has been said.  I know this young man, and, I dare say, this young maiden.  We are very good friends.  Don’t you remember me?” looking sharply at me.

“Not exactly,” said I, straining my memory.

“Oh, come, don’t deny it.  Last time you had the best of it; this time I have.  Don’t you remember the Fair of Beaucaire?”

“Yes, of course, sir,” said Madeleine, readily, “and your beautiful needles and pins and pretty equipage.”

The needle-vender looked pleased, and said, “You have a better memory than the young fellow; however, I owe him a good turn.  You saved me from the hoofs of le Docteur Jameray’s horse, and lent me your handkerchief.  I have had it in keeping for you ever since,” drawing it from his breast.  Then, turning to his companions, he said, “Excuse me; I attend these young persons a little way.  They are friends, and the young man is ill.”

In fact, my head swam round, and I swooned again, and have no remembrance but of a confused babble of sounds.  When I came to, Madeleine and the needle-seller, whose name was La Croissette, were conveying me between them; or, in fact, he was chiefly carrying me, and she supporting my feet.  I said, “Set me down, I’ll try to walk,” but found I could not.  Then she said, “Wait here; I’ll run on a little, and find where Gabrielle is.”

I would have stayed her, but she was gone.  La Croissette said, “You seem in trouble; what is it?”

I said, “Don’t you know the dragoons are in Nismes?  They have tried to burn my mother, have bound and beaten my father, destroyed our property, and cudgelled and burnt me till I cannot stand.”

He drew in his breath, and said, “Any one of those things is trouble enough.  Is that pretty girl your sister?”

“No; my affianced wife.”

“And you have taken to Les Arenes for safety, and left your father and mother behind?”