"Thanks! This conversation has done me much good. Unfortunately The time has not yet come when I can openly declare myself one of your number. It is necessary that I should wait yet a little while, even in the best interests of the Religion itself. Otherwise my conversion might well expose your holy cause to persecution some day, or to calumny at least. I know what I am saying. But now I understand, thanks to you, Master, that you and your fellows are really marching in the right path, and from this moment, believe that I am with you in heart, if not bodily. Adieu! Master Ambroise, adieu! We shall soon meet again." Gabriel, without further elucidation of his words, took his leave of the surgeon-philosopher, and left the house. In the early days of the following month,--May, 1558,--he appeared for the first time since his mysterious departure at his own home in the Rue des Jardins St. Paul. There were new-comers there. Martin-Guerre had returned a fortnight previously, and Jean Peuquoy and his wife Babette had been living there for three months. But God had not decreed that Jean's devotion should be put to the final test, nor perhaps that Babette's fault should go wholly unpunished. A few days before, she had been prematurely delivered of a dead child. The poor mother had wept bitterly, but had bowed her head in humble acceptance of a grief which seemed like an expiation to her repentant heart; and as Jean Peuquoy had generously offered his sacrifice to her, so she in her turn for his sake resigned herself to the hand of God. Moreover, the comforting affection of her husband and Aloyse's motherly encouragement did not fail the sweet child in her affliction. Martin-Guerre, with his wonted good-humor, did his best to console her. One day, as the four were sitting in friendly converse together, the door opened, and to their great amazement and still greater joy the master of the house, Vicomte d'Exmès himself, suddenly appeared, walking slowly and with a grave and sober face. Four exclamations were heard as one; and Gabriel was quickly surrounded by his two guests, his squire, and his nurse. When their first transports of delight had subsided, Aloyse began eagerly to question him whom in words she called her lord and master, but who was always her child in the language of her faithful heart. What had become of him during his long absence? What did he mean to do now? Did he not intend at last to remain among those who loved him so dearly? Gabriel laid a finger on his lips, and with a mournful but firm glance, imposed silence upon Aloyse's loving anxiety. It was clear that he did not choose to explain his movements in the past or in the future, or that he could not. But he took his turn at asking questions of Jean and Babette about their own affairs. Had they wanted for anything? Had they any recent intelligence of their good brother Pierre at Calais?