business of the shop during the absence of her companion.  Victoire was fully as eager as Sister Frances to see the faithful steward and the Chateau de Fleury, and the morning was now fixed for their walk; but in the middle of the night they were awakened by the shouts of a mob, who had just entered the village fresh from the destruction of a neighbouring castle.  The nun and Victoire listened; but in the midst of the horrid yells of joy no human voice, no intelligible word could be distinguished; they looked through a chink in the window-shutter and they saw the street below filled with a crowd of men, whose countenances were by turns illuminated by the glare of the torches which they brandished.

“Good Heavens!” whispered the nun to Victoire:  “I should know the face of that man who is loading his musket—­the very man whom I nursed ten years ago when he was ill with a gaol fever!”

This man, who stood in the midst of the crowd, taller by the head than the others, seemed to be the leader of the party; they were disputing whether they should proceed further, spend the remainder of the night in the village ale-house, or return to Paris.  Their leader ordered spirits to be distributed to his associates, and exhorted them in a loud voice to proceed in their glorious work.  Tossing his firebrand over his head he declared that he would never return to Paris till he had razed to the ground the Chateau de Fleury.  At these words, Victoire, forgetful of all personal danger, ran out into the midst of the mob, pressed her way up to the leader of these ruffians, caught him by the arm, exclaiming, “You will not touch a stone in the Chateau de Fleury—­I have my reasons—­I say you will not suffer a stone in the Chateau de Fleury to be touched.”

“And why not?” cried the man, turning astonished; “and who are you that I should listen to you?”

“No matter who I am,” said Victoire; “follow me and I will show you one to whom you will not refuse to listen.  Here!—­here she is,” continued Victoire, pointing to the nun, who had followed her in amazement; “here is one to whom you will listen—­yes, look at her well:  hold the light to her face.”

The nun, in a supplicating attitude, stood in speechless expectation.

“Ay, I see you have gratitude, I know you will have mercy,” cried Victoire, watching the workings in the countenance of the man; “you will save the Chateau de Fleury for her sake—­who saved your life.”

“I will,” cried this astonished chief of a mob, fired with sudden generosity.  “By my faith you are a brave girl, and a fine girl, and know how to speak to the heart, and in the right moment.  Friends, citizens, this nun, though she is a nun, is good for something.  When I lay ill with a fever, and not a soul else to help me, she came and gave me medicines and food—­in short, I owe my life to her.  ’Tis ten years ago, but I remember it well, and now it is our turn to rule, and she shall be paid as she deserves.  Not a stone of the Chateau de Fleury shall be touched!”