"Indeed," said the Schoolmaster, "your account is most interesting, and fully bears out all you asserted. But, the more I hear of the exalted views and noble generosity of your master, the more earnestly do I pray he may be induced to look with pity on my wretched condition. To such a man, so filled with a desire to improve the condition of God's creatures, a charitable action more or less would make but little difference. Oh, tell me beforehand his name, and that of your kind Lady of the Ready Help, that I may already bless and thank them; for full certain am I, minds so bent upon good deeds will never turn a deaf ear to my petition." "Now I dare say you expect to be told the high-sounding titles of some great, grand personages. But, bless you! no such thing; no more parade about their names than those of the saints themselves. 'Our Lady of Help' is called Madame Georges, and our good master plain M. Rodolph." "Merciful powers! My wife! my judge! my executioner!" faintly exclaimed the robber, struck almost speechless at this unexpected revelation. "Rodolph!--Madame Georges!" It was wholly impossible for the Schoolmaster to entertain a doubt respecting the identity of the persons to whom those names belonged. Previously to adjudging him his fearful punishment, Rodolph had spoken of the lively interest he took in all that concerned Madame Georges. The recent visit of the negro David to this farm was another conclusive proof of there being no mistake in the matter. It seemed as though the very hand of Providence had brought about this singular rencontre, overthrowing as it so completely did his recently cherished hopes of emancipation from his present misery, through the intervention of the generosity of the proprietor of this farm. To fly was his first impulse. The very name of Rodolph inspired him with the most intense terror. Possibly he was even now in the house. Scarcely recovered from his first alarm, the brigand rose from the table, and, grasping the hand of Tortillard, exclaimed, in a wild and terrified manner: "Let us be gone!--quick!--lead me hence. Let us go, I say." The whole of the servants looked on with astonishment. "Go!" said Father Châtelain, with much surprise. "Why? Wherefore should you go? What are you thinking about, my friend? Come, what fresh whim is this? Are you quite in your right senses?" Tortillard cleverly availed himself of this last suggestion, and, uttering a deep sigh, touched his forehead significantly with his forefinger, so as to convey to the minds of the wondering labourers the impression that his pretended parent was not quite right in his head. The signal elicited a corresponding gesture of pity and due comprehension. "Come, I say, come!" persisted the Schoolmaster, endeavouring to draw the boy along with him; but, fully determined not to quit such comfortable quarters to wander about in the fields all night during the frost and snow, Tortillard began in a whimpering voice to say: