Jacques Bonneval | Page 7

Avignon, and did not care to go to the Fair; nevertheless he was very
glad to hear all about it from those who had been there. We were well
pleased to have so ready a listener; and when we had said our say, he
fell into grave talk with my father and mother of the signs of the times,
which he thought very threatening.
"What can we expect otherwise," said he, "with Louis the Fourteenth
for king and Louvois for his minister, and Père la Chaise for his
confessor, and Madame de Maintenon for his confidante and adviser?

A storm is gathering overhead, but never mind--there is a heaven
higher than all." These words checked us; but youthful spirits soon rise,
and the impression did not last long. I now seemed walking on air, for I
loved and was loved by Madeleine.
A few days after our return from Beaucaire, Marie Lefevre burst in on
us with troubled looks, and exclaimed,
"Have you seen my boy?"
"No!" exclaimed we all.
"Then something has befallen him," cried she, wringing her hands. "We
have lost sight of him."
We gathered about her, full of pity, and asked where he had last been
seen.
"Near Les Arènes."
"He may have fallen into some pit, or lost himself among the
dungeons," said my mother. "We will go and help you to find him."
So she and I accompanied Marie, who was crying bitterly, and made
frequent inquiries for him by the way.
When we got inside that vast, circular inclosure, we agreed that Marie
should explore one side and we the other, and thus meet at the other
end. This took us some time, for you must know that it consists of two
stories, each of sixty arcades, seventy feet high; and under its great
arches and pillars are many vaulted chambers and passages, wherein
good Christians have been confined; and again, wherein other good
Christians have found asylums in time of hot persecution. Within the
amphitheatre were originally thirty-two rows of seats, which would
accommodate at least twenty thousand spectators that had a mind to
feast their eyes on scenes of blood in the central arena. I looked with
curiosity at this place, which I had never so thoroughly visited before.
Some of the dens were still in use for the bulls that were baited on
Sundays, and others seemed lairs for rogues and vagabonds; but there
was many a corner which, as I said to my mother, would afford a good
hiding-place in time of danger, and one, especially, in which I thought
a fugitive might defy detection (though I had detected it).
Well, we hunted high and low, but could not find little Jules. His
mother was distracted: we feared she would lose her reason altogether.
Madeleine devoted herself to her like an angel; neighbors were full of
compassion--those of our own persuasion, I mean; for the Catholics

mocked her and said, "Go seek him in the Jews' quarter. The Jew
baker's daughter has, doubtless, made him into pies. Go seek him in
their secret assemblies--in their cellars--in their
slaughter-houses--doubtless they are fattening him for their Passover."
Conceive the anguish of the mother.
At length she found he was not dead. Her heart leaped for joy. But
when she found how the case stood with him, she was ready to wish
him dead and numbered among the little children that follow the Lamb
whithersoever he goeth. Jules had been kidnapped and tampered with
by the Catholics. The little apostate had been taught to curse his
parents.
The case occasioned a great deal of talk in Nismes at the time;
unhappily, similar kidnappings made it soon forgotten, except by the
family.
One day, when I had been hunting for him, I came suddenly on the
young man who had stared so rudely at Gabrielle at Beaucaire. I was
sorry to see him in Nismes. I did not like the look of him, with his
narrow head, low forehead, and eyes too near his nose, though
otherwise he was well enough. Returning to our factory, I found him
just coming out of it. I said to my father, "Who is that?" He said, "A
troublesome fellow, I think, but he brought a message from your uncle
Nicolas. He is called Martin Prunevaux. He asked me all manner of
impertinent questions, and, if he fall in with you, may ask you as many;
but remember Jaques Coeur's motto,
"'En close bouche N'entre mouche--'
"And again, 'Dire, faire, taire.'"
"Ay, ay, father, you may depend on me," said I, heartily.
Sometimes, before I went to bed, I stepped out to get a glimpse of the
light in Madeleine's window. I should observe, it was also Gabrielle's,
for the sisters shared the same room. The moon cast strong