Rosen-Aer and Septimine saw on the other side of the moat Berthoald holding himself up with both hands by the iron bars of the air-hole of the cavern. He suddenly saw and as quickly recognized his mother, and, delirious with joy, he cried in a thrilling voice that, despite the distance, reached the workshop: "Mother!... My dear mother!" "Septimine," Bonaik said anxiously to the girl, "do you know that young man?" "Oh, yes! He was as good to me as an angel from Heaven! I saw him at the convent of St. Saturnine. It is to that warrior that Charles donated this abbey." "To him!" replied the old man, bewildered. "How, then, comes he in that cavern?" "Master Bonaik," one of the apprentices ran by saying, "I hear outside the voice of the intendant Ricarik. He stopped under the vault to scold some one. He will be here in a minute. He is coming on his morning round, as is his habit. What is best to be done?" "Good God!" cried the old man in terror. "He will find this woman here, and will question her. She may betray herself and acknowledge that she is the mother of that young man--undoubtedly a victim of the abbess." And the old man, running to the window, seized Rosen-Aer by the arm and said to her while he dragged her away: "In the name of your son's life, come! Come quick!" "What threatens my son's life?" "Follow me, or he is lost, and you also." And Bonaik, without further explanations to Rosen-Aer, pointed out to her the vault behind the forge, saying: "Hide there, do not stir," and turning to his apprentices while he put on his apron: "You, boys, hammer away as loud as you can, and sing at the top of your voices! You, Septimine, sit down and polish this vase. May God prevent that poor young man from remaining at the air-hole or from being seen by Ricarik!" Saying this the old goldsmith started to hammer upon his anvil, striking with a sonorous voice the old and well-known goldsmith's song in honor of the good Eloi: "From the station of artisan He was raised to that of bishop,-- With his duties of pastor, Eloi purified the goldsmith. His hammer is the authority for his word, His furnace the constancy of zeal, His bellows the inspirer, His anvil, obedience!" Ricarik entered the workshop. The goldsmith seemed not to notice him, and proceeded with his song while flattening with hammer blows a silver leaf into which the abbatial cross terminated. "You are a jolly set," remarked the intendant stepping to the center of the workshop; "stop your singing ... you dogs ... you deafen my ears!" "I have not a drop of blood in my veins," Septimine whispered to Bonaik. "That wicked man is drawing near the window.... If he were to see the Frankish chief--" "Why have you so much fire in the forge?" the intendant proceeded to say, taking a step towards the fireplace, behind which was the cave that Rosen-Aer was concealed in. "Do you amuse yourself burning coal uselessly?"