"Yes; I saw the worthy fellow this morning at the town hall. He is in good health, although he has suffered a good deal during his travels." The emotion and tears of Denise must be left undescribed. After the first ebullition of joy was over, Marcel said to his wife: "I was presiding at the town hall over the council when one of our sergeants handed me a letter. I opened it and read that Jocelyn requested to speak with me. I ordered him to be taken upstairs to my room, and immediately after the session I hastened thither. Oh, my poor Denise! I confess it. I hardly recognized our friend, he was so changed! He has lost flesh ... his eyes are hollow ... his cheek-bones stick out." "What happened to him?" asked Denise. "Did he go to fight the English, as my aunt feared. Does he come from prison?" "He comes from prison, but did not go to war," answered Marcel. "This is what happened: As you know, he left for Nointel in Beauvoisis. After he left Nointel at night, and taking rest for an hour the next morning at Beaumont-sur-Oise, he resumed his journey. A short while after he heard the rapid gallop of a horse approaching behind him; turning he saw a man with a woman on his horse's crupper fleeing before three armed knights who followed at a distance. The couple drew in a few steps from Jocelyn, and the man, a lad of about twenty, said to our friend: 'We are fleeing from the castle of the Sire of Beaumont; he is the guardian of my sister who accompanies me, and he sought to violate her. He is riding after us with his men. You are armed. For pity's sake defend us; help me to protect my sister!..." "I know the heart and courage of Jocelyn," said Denise deeply moved. "He surely took the part of the unfortunate girl!" "Without hesitating, because, as he said to me, in his capacity of champion he could not refuse so good a case. The Sire of Beaumont arrived with his two equerries...." "And the combat started!" cried Denise joining her hands. "Poor Jocelyn! Alone against three!" "He was strong enough to overcome them. Unfortunately, however, at the very start of the action one of the combatants dealt him such a furious blow from behind with a mace on the head that Jocelyn's casque was broken. He fell from his horse unconscious ... and when he awoke he found himself half naked lying on straw, and aching at every limb at the bottom of a dungeon." "Poor Jocelyn!" said Marguerite. "That dungeon, no doubt, was some prison cell in the castle of Beaumont, whither our wounded friend was transported after the combat, stripped of his arms and in a dying condition?" "Yes, dear Marguerite; and Jocelyn remained in that cell, a prey to a devouring fever, until his recent release." "How he must have suffered! But, uncle, how did our poor friend manage to come out?"