the future.

* * * * *

Jacqueline went to the house of the wool-comber, as of late had been her
nightly custom,--but not, as heretofore, to lighten the loneliness
and anxiety of the mother of Leclerc. Already she had said to the old
woman,--

"I need not work now for my father's redemption. Then I will work for
you, if your son is disabled. Let us believe that God brought me here
for this. I am strong. You can lean on me. Try it."

Now she went to make repetition of the promise to Leclerc, if,
perchance, he had come back to his mother sick and sore and helpless.
For this reason, when she entered the humble home of the martyr, his
eyes fell on her, and he saw her as she had been an angel; how serene
was her countenance; and her courage was manifestly such as no mortal
fear, no human affliction, could dismay.

Already in that room faithful friends had gathered, to congratulate the
living man, and to refresh their strength from the abounding richness of
his.

Martial Mazurier, the noted preacher, was there, and Victor Le Roy;
besides these, others, unknown by name or presence to Jacqueline.

Among them was the wool-comber,--wounded with many stripes, branded,
a heretic! But a man still, it appeared,--a living man,--brave as any
hero, determined as a saint,--ready to proclaim now the love of God, and