"Shall you remain here long?" said La Croissette. "That depends entirely on circumstances." "Doubtless you are hiding from the dragoons." "Is it necessary to tell you?" "Why, no; but you might do so without fear. I have no love for them myself, but nothing to fear; I am certainly not a Huguenot; but neither would I betray one. Come, I see you would rather I went away. I am going into town. There is nothing I can do for you, then?" "Nothing; we thank you very much." When he was gone, Gabrielle exclaimed, "Now that is what I call an opportunity wasted." "We must beware, my child, who we trust," said my mother. "Of course; but he was so evidently a harmless, good sort of man." "We had no occasion to trouble him." Gabrielle plainly thought there was a good deal of occasion. Indeed, had she known she was actually doomed to spend a few days in the vaults of Les Arènes, I am persuaded she would have fitted them up with upholstery and eatables, even to pickles and preserves. Meanwhile Madeleine was beguiling the time to the children by setting them easy sums on the wall, scratched with a nail, and drawing pictures for them with the same implement, accompanied with stories, as thus:--"Once on a time there was a poor Christian captive in this very dungeon--here he is (drawing his picture)--sentenced to be thrown to the lions (picture). Once he had been a little boy like this (picture), fond of playing with other little boys (picture), and ready to carry his mother's pitcher to the well (picture), or sweep her floor (picture), or make himself useful to her in any way whatever. One day,"--and so forth. Gabrielle's fancy was tickled with this, and when Madeleine desisted she continued it, though now and then with a furtive yawn. Meanwhile my father was pondering over the papers he had about him, and sitting immersed in thought, or now and then saying a little to my mother. By-and-by he ventured out a little without quitting the precincts of the amphitheatre, and returned, saying several tramps were loitering about, whose attention it would not be prudent to attract. The day, which seemed the longest I ever knew, at length drew to a close, which we only learnt by my father's watch, for we were out of hearing of the town clocks. He said it would make time pass less heavily if we divided it methodically, and had our set hours for meals, rest, prayer, and mutual improvement, whether by exhortation, discussion, or general discourse, We followed his lead as well as we could, but our thoughts were chiefly with the outer world. Just after the women and children had retired for the night to a little inner dungeon, La Croissette once more presented himself uninvited. "I thought, messieurs, you might like to hear the news of the day," said he. "Most certainly," said my father. "Pray be seated. I wish I had a better seat to offer you. What is stirring?"