Jacques Bonneval | Page 3

M. Bourdinave. "Sure, you would not have a tooth drawn in the middle of the high road?"
"Truly, I should not mind it, inside that nice little wooden house," said she.
But no, she was not allowed to do so; and, to console her, Madeleine uncovered a little basket she carried on her arm, and discovered cherries as red as her own lips, nestling in dark green leaves. "Here," said she, cheerfully, "are some stones to take your revenge on."
"Ah, what beauties," cried Alice, taking a few; and the basket being handed round, we were soon all eating cherries; and Gabrielle asked me if I did not wish she had the gift of St. Marguerite.
"I do not know what gift you mean," said I, turning half round, and looking full at her.
"Once on a time," said the lively girl, "the foolish story goes, that two saints, who were brother and sister, lived in separate monasteries; but the brother was frequently visited by his sister, on the pretence of seeking spiritual advice. Their names were St. Honorat and St. Marguerite. At length the brother grew rather tired of his sister's visits, and called them a waste of time. 'Henceforth, let it suffice that I shall visit you occasionally, said he. 'When?' said St. Marguerite. 'When the cherry-trees blossom,' said St Honorat. Thereupon, St. Marguerite prayed that the cherry-trees might blossom once a month, which they did; so her brother acknowledged himself outwitted."
"Fie for shame, daughter," said M. Bourdinave, with displeasure. "I am grieved that you should remember and repeat such lying legends."
"Dear father, they exercise the fancy--"
"Exercise the fancy, indeed! Let fancy confine herself to her own province. She is a good servant, but a bad mistress. The Jews exercised their fancies in the wild Talmudical fables. What said our Saviour of them? 'Ye make the word of God of none effect through your traditions. Let me hear no more papistical fables."
Gabrielle hung her head, and stealing a glance that way, I saw Madeleine pass her arm round her sister's waist, and look sweetly at her, which made me think Madeleine more attractive than ever. M. Bourdinave did not immediately recover his equanimity, but addressing my father, said it more than ever behooved good Reformers to walk warily, and not give in to any of the ensnaring practices of the surrounding Catholics. "Little by little they are stealing in on us already," said he, "and, if our sagacious men are to be believed, a time of trouble is preparing for us that may perhaps not fall very short of the massacre on the day of St. Bartholomew."
"Still," said my father, "we are under the protection of the Edict of Nantes."
"Edicts may be set aside," said M. Bourdinave, in a lowered voice, which yet I heard, being next him. "Only think how we have been annoyed and injured the last two or three years, by edicts differing greatly from the Edict of Nantes. That one, for instance, which rendered us liable to the intrusion of Catholics into our temples, to spy at our observances, pick up scraps of our sermons, and report them incorrectly. What advantage the rabble have taken of it!"
"Too true," said my father, gravely.
"Last year," pursued M. Bourdinave, "that attempted confederacy for mutual protection, when all our closed meetinghouses were reopened for worship, showed what temper our adversaries were of."
"It was an ill-considered measure," said my father, slowly.
"Ill-conducted, rather," said M. Bourdinave. "The act should have been simultaneous; whereas the want of concert among our people betrayed their weakness, and laid them open to attack. The military at Bordeaux acted with shocking barbarity."
"I do not like to think upon it," said my father. "I trust there will be no recurrence of such lamentable scenes."
"I much fear there will be, though," said M. Bourdinave, gloomily. "Satan desires to have us, that he may sift us like wheat. Let us hope to abide the trial."
At this moment a burst of noisy music, drowned their voices; and the needle-seller's horse, which was just before us, making a sudden start, the poor needle-vendor was thrown off his balance, and jerked out of his cart on to a heap of flints by the road-side, while his horse began to kick. Giving the reins to my father, I jumped out, and ran to his assistance; but he was so prickly all over, that it was difficult to lay hold of him. His needles and pins ran into my fingers in a dozen places. To make matters worse, his nose began to bleed, so that he was in a pitiable plight. However, I picked him up at last, found he was not seriously injured, gave him a clean handkerchief (which he promised to return), and started him off again in his cart, in a sitting position this time,