"Do you think you could bear being put into a Hippocrates' Sleeve?" "I am not called on to think what I could bear: only to bear what is put on me." "Your father, every word! As the old cock crows, so does the young one. But after all, 'tis a fearful thing to lie at the mercy of those that can devise and carry out such tortures." "It is written, 'I say unto you, my friends, Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do; but I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear. Fear Him which after He hath killed, hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto you, fear Him.'" "You seem to have all the texts on this particular head at the tips of your fingers. Did you learn them for this particular purpose?" "My dear mother used to repeat to me a text every night, and expect me to repeat it to her the next day." "An excellent plan," said La Croissette, whipping his horse. And he hummed a tune. When we reached Montauban, he said, "I must now begin my old tricks, to earn a little money;" and he drew up in the market-place. But the people had been as heavily visited as at Nismes, and were in no mood for jesting. When he began to vend his nostrums, an old man of severe aspect held up his hand, and said: "Peace, unfeeling man--you bring your senseless ribaldry to the wrong market. Here are only lamentations, and mourning, and woe." "My good sir, one must live," said La Croisette. "And how? tell me that!" retorted the old man, indignantly. "They that fed delicately are desolate in the streets; they that were clad in scarlet are cast on dunghills; the tongue of the suckling child cleaves to the roof of its mouth for thirst; the young children ask for bread, and no man giveth unto them." Then, with a wail that was almost like a howl, he tore his hair and cried, "For this, for this mine eyes run down with water and mine eyelids take no rest. Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by?" "Jean, I cannot stand this," said La Croissette, as the old man hurried away. "All the people seem with broken hearts--it takes all spirit out of me. I cannot even hawk needles and pins among the starving--who would buy?" I could only say, "How dreadful is this place! The Lord seems to have forsaken his sanctuary." "Let us seek another place as soon as we can--" "You forget: I am to be met here by an agent of my father's at La Boule d'Or." "Ah, well, we will go thither." When we drove into the inn-yard, however, we could hear unruly voices in the house, and feared we might fall into bad company. A man immediately came up to us, and said to me, in a low voice: "Are you M. Jacques Bonneval?" "I am. Are you Antoine Leroux?" "Hist!--yes. There are ill-disposed people in the inn; you had better not go in-doors. Can you walk a little way?" "Yes." "Come with me, then." "I must bid my companion farewell." Turning to La Croissette, I took his hand in both mine, and pressed it fervently, saying: