At these words the three occupants of the attic looked at each other with indications of profound terror on their faces. The old man was the least moved of the three, perhaps because he was in the greatest danger. Under the weight of a great calamity, or under the yoke of persecution, a courageous man begins, so to speak, by preparing to sacrifice himself; he looks upon his days simply as so many victories over destiny. The eyes of the two women, fastened upon this old man, made it easy to divine that he was the sole object of their intense anxiety. "Why despair of God, my sisters?" he said in a low but powerful voice. "We sang His praises amid the cries of the assassins and the shrieks of the dying at the Carmelite convent. If He decreed that I should be saved from that butchery, it was doubtless because He reserved me for another destiny, which I must accept without a murmur. God protects His people, He may dispose of them at His pleasure. It is of you, not of me, we must think." "No," said one of the old women; "what are our lives compared with that of a priest?" "When once I found myself outside of the Abbey of Chelles, I looked upon myself as dead," said that one of the two women who had not gone out. "Here," replied the other, handing the priest the little box, "here are the wafers.--But," she cried, "I hear some one coming up the stairs." Thereupon all three listened intently. The noise ceased. "Do not be alarmed," said the priest, "if some one should try to enter. A person upon whose fidelity we can rely has undoubtedly taken all necessary measures to cross the frontier, and will come here to get the letters which I have written to the Duc de Langeais and to the Marquis de Beauséant, asking them to consider the means of rescuing you from this terrible country, from the death or destitution which awaits you here." "Then you do not mean to go with us?" cried the two nuns gently, with manifestations of despair. "My place is where there are victims," said the priest simply. They held their peace and gazed at their companion with devout admiration. "Sister Martha," he said, addressing the nun who had gone to buy the wafers, "the messenger I speak of will reply '_Fiat voluntas'_ to the word '_Hosanna_.'" "There is some one on the stairs!" cried the other nun, opening the door of a hiding-place under the lower part of the roof. This time they could plainly hear, amid the profound silence, the footsteps of a man upon the stairs, which were covered with ridges of hardened mud. The priest crept with difficulty into a sort of cupboard, and the nuns threw over him a few pieces of apparel. "You may close the door, Sister Agatha," he said in a muffled voice.