“As far as regards the Capitulary of Charlemagne, which fixes the compensation for abduction, I have not mentioned it because I am sure that you must remember it. So, my dear Monsieur de Gabry, you see abduction was considered as decidedly a punishable offense under the three dynasties of Old France. It is a very great mistake to suppose that the Middle Ages represent a period of social chaos. You must remember, on the contrary---” Monsieur de Gabry here interrupted me: “So,” he exclaimed, “you know of the Ordonnacne de Blois, you know Baluze, you know Childebert, you know the Capitularies--and you don’t know anything about the Code-Napoleon!” I replied that, as a matter of fact, I never had read the Code; and he looked very much surprised. “And now do you understand,” he asked, “the extreme gravity of the action you have committed?” I had not indeed been yet able to understand it fully. But little by little, with the aid of Monsieur Paul’s very sensible explanations, I reached the conviction at last that I should not be judged in regard to my motives, which were innocent, but only according to my action, which was punishable. Thereupon I began to feel very despondent, and to utter divers lamentations. “What am I to do?” I cried out, “what am I to do? Am I then irretrievably ruined?--and have I also ruined the poor child whom I wanted to save?” Monsieur de Gabry silently filled his pipe, and lighted it so slowly that his kind broad face remained for at least three or four minutes glowing red behind the light, like a blacksmith’s in the gleam of his forge-fire. Then he said, “You want to know what to do? Why, don’t do anything, my dear Monsieur Bonnard! For God’s sake, and for your own sake, don’t do anything at all! Your situation is bad enough as it is; don’t try to meddle with it now, unless you want to create new difficulties for yourself. But you must promise me to sustain me in any action that I may take. I shall go to see Monsieur Mouche the very first thing to-morrow morning; and if he turns out to be what I think he is--that is to say, a consummate rascal--I shall very soon find means of making him harmless, even if the devil himself should take sides with him. For everything depends on him. As it is too late this evening to take Mademoiselle Jeanne back to her boarding-school, my wife will keep the young lady here to-night. This of course plainly constitues the misdemeanour of complicity; but it saves the girl from anything like an equivocal position. As for you, my dear Monsieur, you just go back to the Quai Malaquais as quickly as you can; and if they come to look for Jeanne there, it will be very easy for you to prove she is not in your house.” While we were thus talking, Madame de Gabry was preparing to make her young lodger comfortable for the night. When she bade me good-bye at the door, she was carrying a pair of clean sheets, scented with lavender, thrown over her arm. “That,” I said, “is a sweet honest smell.”