"Oh! he is safe and sound, Mademoiselle! safe and sound, thanks be to Heaven!" cried Ascanio. "Thanks be to this poor boy, who received the blow intended for him," said Benvenuto, "for you may truly say that this gallant fellow saved your life, Monsieur le Prévôt.--How's this? where are you, Messire Robert?" exclaimed Cellini, looking about for the provost, whose disappearance he could not understand. "He is here, master," said Hermann. "Where, pray?" "Here, in the little prison." "O Monsieur Benvenuto!" cried Colombe, darting to the shed with a gesture of mingled entreaty and reproach. "Open, Hermann," said Cellini. Hermann obeyed, and the provost appeared in the doorway, somewhat humiliated by his misadventure. Colombe threw herself into his arms. "O father! father!" she cried; "are you not wounded? has no harm befallen you?" and as she spoke she looked at Ascanio. "No," said the provost in his harsh voice, "no, thank Heaven! nothing has happened to me." "And--and--" queried Colombe, in a faltering tone, "is it true that this youth--" "I cannot deny that he arrived at just the right time." "Yes," interposed Cellini, "yes, at the right time to receive the sword thrust which I intended for you, Monsieur le Prévôt. Yes, Mademoiselle Colombe, yes," he added, "you owe your father's life to this brave fellow, and if Monsieur le Prévôt doesn't proclaim it from the housetops, he is an ingrate as well as a liar." "I trust that his rescuer will not have to pay too dearly for his gallantry," rejoined Colombe, blushing at her own audacity. "O Mademoiselle!" cried Ascanio, "I would gladly have shed all my blood in such a cause!" "Well, well, Messire le Prévôt," said Cellini, "see what tender emotions you have caused to spring up. But Ascanio may not be able to bear the excitement. The bandage is in place, and it would be well for him, I think, to take a little rest now." What Benvenuto had said to the provost of the service rendered him by the wounded man was no more than the truth; and as every truth has an innate strength of its own, the provost in his heart could but admit that he owed his life to Ascanio. He therefore put a good face on the matter, and approached the wounded man, saying:-- "Young man, an apartment in my hotel is at your service." "In your hotel, Messire Robert!" exclaimed Cellini, with a laugh, for his good humor returned as his anxiety on Ascanio's account vanished; "in your hotel? Why, do you really wish to begin the battle over again?" "What!" cried the provost, "do you claim the right to turn my daughter and myself out of doors?" "By no means, Messire. You now occupy the Petit-Nesle. Very good! keep the Petit-Nesle, and let us live on such terms as good neighbors should. Be good enough, Messire, to make no opposition to Ascanio's being at once made comfortable in the Grand-Nesle, where we will join him this evening. Thereafter, if you prefer war--" "O father!" cried Colombe. "No! peace!" said the provost.