“Your holiness!” said Gondy; “my friend, you take me for some one else.” “No, your holiness, I take you for what you are, that is to say, the coadjutor; I recognized you at the first glance.” Gondy smiled. “And you want my blessing?” he said. “Yes, I have need of it.” The mendicant uttered these words in a tone of such humility, such earnest repentance, that Gondy placed his hand upon him and gave him his benediction with all the unction of which he was capable. “Now,” said Gondy, “there is a communion between us. I have blessed you and you are sacred to me. Come, have you committed some crime, pursued by human justice, from which I can protect you?” The beggar shook his head. “The crime which I have committed, my lord, has no call upon human justice, and you can only deliver me from it by blessing me frequently, as you have just done.” “Come, be candid,” said the coadjutor, “you have not all your life followed the trade which you do now?” “No, my lord. I have pursued it for six years only.” “And previously, where were you?” “In the Bastile.” “And before you went to the Bastile?” “I will tell you, my lord, on the day when you are willing to hear my confession.” “Good! At whatsoever hour of the day or night you may present yourself, remember that I shall be ready to give you absolution.” “Thank you, my lord,” said the mendicant in a hoarse voice. “But I am not yet ready to receive it.” “Very well. Adieu.” “Adieu, your holiness,” said the mendicant, opening the door and bending low before the prelate. Chapter XLVII. The Riot. It was about eleven o’clock at night. Gondy had not walked a hundred steps ere he perceived the strange change which had been made in the streets of Paris. The whole city seemed peopled with fantastic beings; silent shadows were seen unpaving the streets and others dragging and upsetting great wagons, whilst others again dug ditches large enough to ingulf whole regiments of horsemen. These active beings flitted here and there like so many demons completing some unknown labor; these were the beggars of the Court of Miracles—the agents of the giver of holy water in the Square of Saint Eustache, preparing barricades for the morrow. Gondy gazed on these deeds of darkness, on these nocturnal laborers, with a kind of fear; he asked himself, if, after having called forth these foul creatures from their dens, he should have the power of making them retire again. He felt almost inclined to cross himself when one of these beings happened to approach him. He reached the Rue Saint Honoré and went up it toward the Rue de la Ferronnerie; there the aspect changed; here it was the tradesmen who were running from shop to shop; their doors seemed closed like their shutters, but they were only pushed to in such a manner as to open and allow the men, who seemed fearful of showing what they carried, to enter, closing immediately. These men were shopkeepers, who had arms to lend to those who had none.