‘Because he ran after me in the forest, and the curé saved me from him, just as he caught me up.’ ‘You do not like Berthier; I saw it in your face.’ ‘Oh, madame! how could I?’ The lady laughed a little, chuckling to herself. Presently she addressed Gabrielle again. ‘Do you know me?’ ‘No, madame.’ ‘Do you know my name?’ ‘You are called Madame Plomb,’ said Gabrielle, hesitatingly. The woman stamped passionately on the floor, and jerked the yellow cat off her shoulder. ‘Who told you that? Why do you call me that?’ ‘Oh, madame! I am so sorry, but I heard Monsieur Berthier address you by that name. I meant no offence.’ ‘Listen to me, child.’ The lady drew her chair towards Gabrielle. ‘Give me your light.’ She snatched the taper from her trembling hand, and waved it before her face. ‘Look on me,’ she said; ‘yes, look, look. Now you know why they call me the Leaden!’ She blew out the candle, and continued: ‘It is only those who hate me who call me by that name; only those, remember, whom I hate. Beware how you call me that again.’ She leaned back, and remained silent for some minutes. Gabrielle’s tears flowed fast, and she sobbed heavily. She was not only frightened, but weary and faint, and sick at heart. ‘Shall I protect you?’ asked the lady, at length. ‘Madame! I pray you,’ pleaded Gabrielle, through her tears. ‘Then I will. He shall not touch you. You shall sleep in my little ante-room.’ ‘May I not go home?’ ‘Alas! poor child, how can you? The gates and doors are locked. The walls are high; and if you scaled the walls, the bloodhounds would be after you. Perhaps you may go home soon, but not now; you cannot now!’ After another pause, she said: ‘Gabrielle, stand up.’ The girl instantly rose. ‘Gabriel, Gabrielle, my cat and you! I love my cat, why not you? Will you kiss me?’ Passionately she caught the girl to her bosom, and kissed her brow and lips and cheek. Then laughing, she said: ‘Yes! Gabrielle, you must be here awhile, and you shall hold the threads, and help to make cat’s cradles.’ CHAPTER VIII. The moon, in her first quarter, hung in a cloudless sky over the valley of the Charentonne, reflected from every patch and pool of water. The poplars, like frosted silver, cast black shadows over the white ground. The frogs were clamorous, for their domain had been unexpectedly extended.