“And it is for a reptile like this you creep away, and refuse to show your wrongs to the people, when every white hair on your head would pierce the tyrants of France like a sword? Old man, I despise you!” As she spoke, Louison gave a vicious snatch at the old prisoner’s mantle, shook the frightened little creature that sought covert there to the floor, and dashed it against the wall with her foot. With a cry of mingled rage and pain the old man leaped to his feet, seized the woman by the throat, and held her till she grew crimson in the face. Then he cast her suddenly away, fell upon the floor, and taking up the wounded animal in his hands, bent over it in pitiful misery, while tears ran down his cheeks in great, heavy drops. Not a murmur left his lips; but you might have seen by the faint shiver of his beard that his mouth was trembling violently. A thrill of human pity seized upon Louison when she saw this anguish. Forgetting her own injuries, she bent down and reached forth her hand to make sure if the old man’s pet were living or dead; but that sharp cry again drove her back, and she retreated from the ruined dungeon grieved for the misery she had wrought. When the old prisoner knew that he was alone, he gathered up the folds of his mantle, and laid his little favorite down with such tender handling as a mother gives to her only child when she puts its little shroud on. He touched its silken sides with his fingers; breathed upon its eyes and sobbed aloud when all his plaintive efforts failed to lift those tiny lids, or stir one of those slender limbs. That which all his wrongs, and an imprisonment of years had failed to accomplish, the heartless woman who had just left him found the power to do. The old man stood up in his cell, and lifting his clasped hands to heaven, called for vengeance on his enemy, and besought God to check the evil spirit which was filling France with demons in the form of women. After this outburst, he sat down in a corner of the dungeon, and shrouding his face, moaned over the little animal which had been his sole companion, year after year, in that dismal place. CHAPTER LXVIII. MARGUERITE COMFORTS HER FATHER. While his eyes were shrouded, and his head bowed low in utter dejection, a young girl darkened the moonlight which streamed into the dungeon, and settled down by the old man with such delicate stillness, that he was not conscious of her approach until her hand was laid on his shoulder. “What is it that troubles you, father?” Her voice was sympathetic and full of sadness. He heard it and all the gentle sweetness of his nature flowed back upon his wounded soul. The very touch of a kind, good woman stilled the wrath which a bad one had enkindled there. The old man took both hands from his face, and pointed downward at his poor, little friend, upon which the moonlight was lying. “Look there, Therese!”