"And that colony of cravens," broke in the count, "trembling before the Arabs, like you now before the Northmans, of course left the pagans to ravage, pillage and burn down the country!" "Count," proceeded the old skipper proudly, "the people of that colony were killed to the last man because they fought in defence of their rights, their families, their soil and their liberty. But, seeing that that handful of brave men were, with the single exception of the indomitable Bretons, the only free men in all Gaul, the Arabs were able to ravage the other provinces and to settle down in Languedoc. In this century the same thing will happen with the Northmans. The population--a horde of slaves on the field, a mass of wretched beings in the towns--is indifferent to the ills that smite you--you rich seigneurs and prelates. And now, adieu. I am in a hurry to return to Paris and embrace my wife and daughter." While Eidiol was uttering these last sentences, the count issued some orders in a low voice to one of his officers, who thereupon hurriedly left the apartment. The old man moved towards the door, but Rothbert, motioning his men to bar the passage, cried in a menacing tone: "You shall not go to introduce disturbance and revolt in my city of Paris!" And addressing the abbot: "Have you a prison in the place?" "We have cells, and quite strong, too, in which to keep the impious criminals who dare resist our will." "Let one of your clerks show the way to my men, who will lock this insolent skipper in one of these cells of the abbey." Eidiol was unable to suppress a first impulse of astonishment and sorrow. "My son," said he, "has remained on board of my vessel; allow me to see him and apprise him of what has happened to me, that he may inform my wife and daughter. They will otherwise feel uneasy at my absence." "Your wishes," answered Rothbert with a cruel smile, "shall be satisfied. I have sent to fetch the other skippers from your vessel." "Treason!" cried Eidiol. "They will come confident that no harm is meant, and a prison cell awaits them!" "You have said it," replied the Count of Paris, and, pointing his finger at Eidiol, he ordered his officers: "To prison with him!" "My dear wife, my sweet daughter! How uneasy will you not feel when to-morrow you see neither my son nor myself coming back home," murmured the old man sadly, and, without offering any resistance, he followed the officer who took him in charge and conducted him to the subterranean cells of the abbey. CHAPTER VI. SISTER AGNES.