“Father Bonneville,” I answered, “Oh it is Father Bonneville—Save him, save him—pray make haste!” “He is, indeed, one of the best men in the world,” said the gentleman, with a look of deep distress. The young officer, however, without more ado, ran down the steps and plunged into the crowd. One or two of his companions followed, I saw a sudden pause in the mob, and heard a great outcry of voices; some apparently in persuasion, others in mere brute clamor. A moment after, however, while the parties seemed still disputing, a squadron of dragoons came into the square, and their appearance, though they took no part in what was going on, seemed to have a great effect upon the mob. A number of the ragged ruffians dropped off every moment, some walking away down the street, singing ribald songs, some coming up to the soldiers, and speaking a word or two to them as if to show that they were not afraid, but walking away in the end. At length, however, I had the satisfaction to see the young officer emerge from the little crowd that remained, holding Father Bonneville by the arm, while another of the dragoon officers walked on the good priest’s other side. The only one who followed them was the butcher, and he continued pursuing them with execration and abuse till they reached the steps of the inn, in which they lodged the good Father for the time. The young officer made no reply to all the ribald language with which he was assailed, except on the inn steps, where he turned, and said in a calm tone— “It may be all very true, but proceed according to law. If he has refused to take the oath required, he can and will be punished for it, but you are not to be the judge, and shall not break the law while I am in command of this town.” Thus saying, without waiting for any answer, he walked into the inn, and I ran after Father Bonneville. The good old man was somewhat out of breath with the rough handling he had received, but I could not perceive any traces of fear or great agitation either in his face or manner. As soon as the young officer and I entered the back-room in which he had taken refuge, he held out his hand kindly to me, but addressed his first words to the other. “I have to thank you much, my son,” he said. “I do believe if you had been two minutes later those poor misguided people would have hanged me.” “I do believe they would,” replied the officer, with a smile; “but you have to thank this good lad for my coming as soon as I did. I did not perceive what they were about till he told me.” “Thank you, Louis, thank you,” said Father Bonneville. “I have had a narrow escape, my son. Although, God knows, I have never done these people any harm, and have tried to do them good, yet they seemed resolved to have my blood. Do you think it will be safe for me to go now, sir? I have some sick people to attend upon.”