Jacques Bonneval | Page 7

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 lights and shadows, and I kept in the shade till close to the house, when what was my disgust to hear the wretched tinkle of a guitar under the window! Serenades might be all very well for Italy, but we did not favor them in Nismes; and stepping briskly up to the musician, I said abruptly, "We want none of this miserable noise!"
He started as if shot, saying, "Pardon, monsieur," evidently taking me for one of the family; a mistake which I favored by knocking at the door. As I was in deep shadow he did not recognize me, but the moonlight fell full on his face, and I saw it was Martin Prunevaux. I felt exceedingly inclined to fall on him and beat him for daring to tune his wretched pipes under Madeleine's window; but a second thought assured me that Gabrielle