"But what was the reason of such a barbarity, friend guest?" asked Henory, the young wife of Guilhern embracing her two children, little Sylvest and little Syomara, both of whom she took on her knees as if fearing to see them exposed to a similar danger. With a gesture the stranger put an end to the interrogatories, and proceeded: "The stream had barely carried away the buckler on which the child lay, than the father raised both his trembling hands to heaven as if to invoke the gods. He followed the course of the buckler with sullen anxiety, leaning, despite himself, to the right when the buckler dipped to the right, and to the left when the buckler dipped on that side. The mother, on the contrary, her arms crossed over her bosom, followed the buckler with firm eyes, and as tranquil as if she had nothing to fear for her child." "Nothing to fear!" cried Guilhern. "To see her child thus exposed to almost certain death ... it is bound to go under...." "That must have been an unnatural mother," cried Henory. "And not one man in all that crowd to jump into the water and save the child!" observed Julyan thinking of his friend. "Oh, that will surely anger the heart of Armel, when I tell him that." "But do not interrupt every instant!" cried Joel. "Proceed, my guest; may Teutates, who presides over all journeys made in this world and in the others, guard the poor little thing!" "Twice," the stranger proceeded, "the buckler threatened to be swallowed up by the eddies of the rapid stream. Of all present, only the mother moved not a muscle. Presently the buckler was seen riding the waters like an airy skiff and peacefully following the course of the stream beyond the rapids. Immediately the crowd cried, beating their hands: "'The boat! The boat!' "Two men ran down the bank, pushed off a boat, and swiftly plying their oars, quickly reached the buckler, and took it up from the water together with the child that had fallen asleep--" "Thanks to the gods! The child is saved!" exclaimed almost in chorus the family of Joel, as if delivered from a painful apprehension. Perceiving that he was about to be again interrupted by fresh questions, the stranger hastened to resume his narrative. "While the buckler and child were being taken from the water, its father Vindorix, whose face was now as radiant with joy as it was somber until then, ran to his wife, and stretching out his arms to her said:" "'Albrege!... Albrege!... You told me the truth.... You were faithful!'" "But repelling her husband with an imperious gesture, Albrege answered him proudly: 'Certain of my honor, I did not fear the trial.... I felt at ease on my child's fate. The gods could not punish an innocent woman with the loss of her child.... But ... _a woman suspected is a woman outraged_.... I shall keep my child. You never more shall see us, nor him, nor me.... You have doubted your wife's honor!'"