Andrew shuddered and covered his face. "I saw one man in a friar's gown take two little baby girls in his arms and try to carry them out of the press, but they were torn from him. Then they caught sight of us, and one cried out, 'There is the arch heretic. There is the man who shelters the preachers.' And a volley of stones flew about our ears. We turned to fly, as there was clearly nothing else to be done, but a man named Michaud—I don't know whether you know him—" "My father saved him from the galleys," said I. "Well, he raised his arquebus and deliberately fired at my uncle, wounding him in the breast. He did not fall nor lose his presence of mind, and by lanes and by-ways we gained the wood. Then he sank to the ground, and I saw that he was dying. "'Lose no time with me,' said he faintly. 'Hasten home at once. Did we not hear them cry, "To the tower!" Remember the secret passage. Hide as long as you can, if you cannot get away. Go not by the road, but across the heath. Why do you stay?' "But I did not leave him till he had breathed his last. Then I drew his body aside into the bushes, and hastened hither." "And do you think they will come?" I asked, as soon as I could speak. "I most surely do," he answered. "The hope of plunder would bring the rascals, of whom there are abundance. The priest sets on the zealots and others join because they are afraid of being suspected of favoring the cause." We sat in silence for what seemed a very long time, till the great clock struck eight. At that very moment we heard a shout and the trampling of many feet, while a strong glare shone through the little grated casement of the room. "There they are," said Andrew, stepping to the window. I followed him and looked out. On they came, a mob of ruffians and abandoned women, with many, too, of whom I should have hoped better things. Heading the press was one of the curés of Avranches, a man whose openly dissolute life was a scandal to his own people. There were also two or three friars, among them the one who had visited us the day before. "Ah, the traitor!" said I. "My father's old companion in arms, and but yesterday eating his bread." "I believe you do him injustice," said my mother, in as calm a tone as if she were speaking of the most ordinary matter. "He has come in the hope of rendering us some service. Poor, miserable, deluded people!" "I would I had some charges of grapeshot for these poor people," said Andrew. "They would go farther to dispel their illusions than a deal of reasoning. Anything but hiding like rats in a hole. But we have no choice. Not a word or sound, for your lives. But what is here?"