"A few days after taking Jocelyn prisoner, the Sire of Beaumont departed with his men to fight the English. Whether he was killed or captured at the rout of Poitiers is not known. But two days ago the Sire of Beaumont's castle was attacked and taken by the troop of a certain Captain Griffith." "That horrible adventurer, who pushed forward as far as St. Cloud and gave us such a fright?" asked Denise. "I remember you left the city at the head of the militia, ran against and forced him to retreat. Good God! In what hands did poor Jocelyn fall!" "Be not alarmed, dear child! By a singular accident our friend has had only cause to praise the adventurer. That savage and eccentric warrior seems sometimes to yield to generous impulses. After having, according to their wont, sacked the castle of Beaumont, massacred the men and violated the women, the band delved down into the subterranean passages in quest of booty. Thus they came to Jocelyn's dungeon, broke his chains and lead him to Captain Griffith, who on that day happily happened to be in a good humor. He cross-questioned our friend, and no doubt struck by his brave and robust appearance, despite all his sufferings, made him an offer to enlist in his company. Jocelyn declined. Griffith, who was half in his cups, then ordered Jocelyn to be furnished with clothes and two florins, and, alluding to our friend's thinness said to him: 'When you shall have regained some meat on your bones you will prove a rude customer; if I again run across you I should be pleased to break a lance with you. You are free. Go! And my patron saint, the Devil, be good to you!" "That Griffith is a dreadful bandit!" repeated Denise. "And yet I cannot but feel thankful to him for having liberated Jocelyn." "And then," put in Marguerite, "our friend proceeded straight back to Paris?" "Yes," answered Marcel sadly, "here another and unexpected sorrow awaited him." "Oh!" said Denise, "his father's death? It must have been a severe blow to him!" "Yes; the blow was severe. Picture to yourself what he must have felt. On his arrival, he hastened joyfully to the house of our old friend Lebrenn, the book-seller. There he first learned of his loss.... He spent the whole of yesterday and the night in solitude and mourning. This morning he came to see me at the town hall. This evening we shall be at least able to offer him the consolation of a tried friendship." Agnes the Bigot came in at this juncture and handed to Marcel a small gold medal enameled in green and bearing the letters "C" and "N," surmounted by a crown. "A man," she announced, "wrapped up to the nose in a cloak and whose eyes are barely visible, is in the shop; he wishes to see Master Marcel without delay; he handed me the medal with orders to bring it to you."