The poor child broke down in tears, and her sister went on.  ’Oh, we were so frightened—­such frightful sounds came close, and people ran by all blood and shrieking—­and there was a glare in the sky—­ and nobody came home—­till at last it grew so dreadful that we hid in the cellar to hear and see nothing.  Only it grew hotter and hotter, and the light through the little grating was red.  And at last there was a noise louder than thunder, and, oh, such a shaking—­for it was the house falling down.  But we did not know that; we tried to open the door, and could not; then we cried and called for father and mother—­and no one heard—­and we sat still for fear, till we slept—­and then it was all dark, and we were very hungry.  I don’t know how time went, but at last, when I was daylight again, there was a talking above, a little baby crying, and a kind voice too; and then we called out, ’Oh, take us out and give us bread.’  Then a face looked down the grating.  Oh, it was like the face of an angel to us, with all the white hair flying round.  It was the holy priest of Nissard; and when one of the cruel men said we were only little heretics who ought to die like rats in a hole, he said we were but innocents who did not know the difference.

‘Ah! we did,’ said the elder girl.  ’You are younger, sister, you forget more;’ and then, holding out her hands to Berenger, she exclaimed, ’Ah! sir, take us away with you.

‘My child!’ exclaimed the Prioress, ’you told me you were happy to be in the good course.

‘Oh yes!’ cried the poor child; ’but I don’t want to be happy!  I am forgetting all my poor father and mother used to say.  I can’t help it, and they would be so grieved.  Oh, take me away, sir!

‘Take care, Agathe, you will be a relapsed heretic,’ said her sister, solemnly.  ’For me, I am a true Catholic.  I love the beautiful images and the processions.

‘Ah! but what would our mother have said!’ cried poor Agathe, weeping more bitterly.

‘Poor child, her old recollections have been renewed,’ said the Prioress, with unchanged sweetness; ’but it will pass.  My dear, the gentleman will tell you that it is as impossible for him to take you as it is for me to let you go.

‘It is so, truly, little one,’ said Berenger.  ’The only little girl I cold have taken with me would have been my own;’ and as her eyes looked at him wistfully, he added, ’No doubt, if your poor mother could, she would thank this good Mother-prioress for teaching you to serve God and be a good child.

‘Monsieur speaks well and kindly,’ said the Prioress; ’and now, Agathe, make your curtsey, and take away the little ones.

‘Let me ask one question more, reverend Mother,’ said Berenger.  ’Ah! children, did you ever see her whom you call Isaac Gardon’s daughter-in-law?

‘No, sir,’ said the children; ’but mother did, and she promised one day to take us to see the baby, for it was so pretty—­so white, that she had never seen the like.