‘What was his name?’ asked Berenger, attracted strangely by what he heard.

’Ribault, Monsieur—­Pasteur Ribault.  Ah! a good man, and sound preacher, when preach he could; but when he could not, his very presence kept the monks’ REVENANTS from vexing us—­as a cat keeps mice away; and, ah!  The children have been changed creatures since Madame dealt with them.  What!  Monsieur would know why they call her our Lady of Hope?  Esperance is her true name; and, moreover, in the former days this abbey had an image that they called Notre-Dame de l’Esperance, and the poor deceived folk thought it did great miracles.  And so, when she came hither, and wrought such cures, and brought blessing wherever she went, it became a saying among us that at length we had our true Lady of Hope.

A more urgent summons here forced Berenger away, and his repetition of the same question received much the same answer from deaf old Captain Falconnet.  He was obliged to repair to his post with merely a piece of bread in his hand; abut, though vigilance was needful, the day bade fair to be far less actively occupied than its predecessor:  the enemy were either disposed to turn the siege into a blockade, or were awaiting reinforcements and heavier artillery; and there were only a few desultory attacks in the early part of the morning.  About an hour before noon, however, the besiegers seemed to be drawing out in arms, as if to receive some person of rank, and at the same time sounds were heard on the hills to the eastward, as if troops were on the march.  Berenger having just been told by the old sergeant that probably all would be quiet for some time longer, and been almost laughed at by the veteran for consulting him whether it would be permissible for him to be absent a few minutes to visit his brother, was setting out across the bridge for the purpose, his eyes in the direction of the rampart, which followed the curve of the river.  The paths which—­as has been said—­the feet of the washerwomen and drawers of water had worn away in quieter times, had been smoothed and scarped away on the outer side, so as to come to an abrupt termination some feet above the gay marigolds, coltsfoot, and other spring flowers that smiled by the water-side.  Suddenly he beheld on the rampart a tiny gray and white figure, fearlessly trotting, or rather dancing, along the summit and the men around him exclaimed, ’The little moonbeam child!’ ’A fairy—­a changeling!’—­’They cannot shoot at such a babe!’ ‘Nor could they harm her!’ ’Hola! little one! Gare!  Go back to your mother!’ ’Do not disturb yourself, sir; she is safer than you,’ were the ejaculations almost at the same moment, while he sprang forward, horrified at the peril of such an infant.  He had reached the angle between the bridge and rampart, when he perceived that neither humanity nor superstition were protecting the poor child; for, as she turned down the remnant of one of the treacherous little paths, a man in bright steel