The hunchback asked his guest to be seated and then sat down himself, looking attentively but kindly at the new arrival. The stranger had a strong face, although he was still a young man. His complexion was a clear olive, and his dark eyes were gloomy and even stern. He wore no periwig, his natural hair curling slightly. In his turn, he scrutinized the cripple, and never was there a greater contrast. Le Bossu was small, and the hump on his back made him stoop; as often occurs in such cases, the upper part of his body and his head were out of proportion with his small and shrunken limbs. His arms were long and powerful, however, his hands well shaped and strong, though brown and callous from labor, and they were skilful hands, able to earn a living despite the feeble legs and back. His face was pale and drawn from much physical suffering, but his eyes were beautiful, large, brown, and full of expression. They redeemed the cripple’s whole aspect, as though the soul--looking out of its windows--made its own appeal. It was his eye that won upon his new acquaintance. “You said you wished to speak to me,” he remarked abruptly. “What is it?” “I will tell you the truth, friend,” le Bossu replied calmly, “you were showing too much emotion yonder; you were observed by the dragoon and Mère Tigrane. She is a dangerous person; men call her the she-wolf--_la Louve_.” “Too much emotion!” repeated the other. “_Dieu!_ you seem an honest man--shall I tell you who that dead woman was?” he asked recklessly. “Are you a Catholic?” “I am,” replied the cobbler, quietly; “’tis best to tell me nothing.” His visitor stared at him. “Why did you try to protect me, then?” he asked. “I am a desperate man and unknown to you--I have no money to reward kindness.” “Nor to pay for a lodging,” remarked the hunchback. The other thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out half a crown, looking at it with a grim smile. “My worldly goods,” he said. “I thought so,” rejoined the cobbler, dryly, “and you paid the other half-crown to see the dead Huguenot woman.” An expression of pain passed over the face opposite. “I would have paid more to be sure that it was--” He broke off, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, _mon Dieu!_” he exclaimed brokenly. The hunchback was silent for a few moments, his arms folded and his eyes on the floor. “You must leave Nîmes,” he said at last; “you will betray yourself here. Meanwhile, there is a room overhead; if you wish you can stay there, free of rent, until you go.” “Again, why do you do this?” asked the stranger. The cobbler indicated his hump with a gesture. “The _bon Dieu_ made me so,” he said simply; “yet I am a scorn in the market-place, a miserable cripple. I swore to the saints that I would help the miserable.” “You will take a risk,” remarked his companion,--“I am François d’Aguesseau, a Huguenot--” “Hush!” The cobbler held up his hand. “I do not wish to know, M. d’Aguesseau. If you will take the upper room, ’tis yours.”