the Italian, and pricked with his stiletto, narrowly escaping with his
life. He gave him what he called "a good English black-eye," and bawled
loudly for justice. The Italian ran off, and was no more seen; and the
Englishman, whose ugly name was Hogg, talked big about applying to his
ambassador, Sir William Trumbull, but was induced to let the matter
drop. The ambassador shortly had worse things to complain of.

The next day was the Catholic Feast of St. Magdalen, which, though we
Huguenots felt no manner of respect for, we were obliged to conform to
outwardly, by not selling or working in open shops, till the services
of the day were over. We made up to ourselves for it by having a
prayer-service of our own in-doors, followed by a long exposition and
exhortation from a godly minister named Brignolles, who warned us of
times of trial that should soon be revealed, and adjured us to put on
the whole armor of God, that we might be able to withstand in the evil
day, and having done all, to stand. Then, after our mid-day meal, we
went forth to see the show.

This time I had the care of Gabrielle, and wished I had not, for she was
in her giddiest humor, and a young man, whose appearance I did not like,
continually hung about us, and looked attentively at her, which I
resented, but she was evidently pleased with. At length, some waxwork
attracting our notice, a change took place in the disposition of our
party. I shifted the charge of Gabrielle to her father, and got
Madeleine instead. My memories of the rest of the day are more about
Madeleine than anything else.

I remember, though, that we fell in with our neighbors the Lefevres at
a waxwork stall, and while Madeleine and I were admiring some fruit that
exactly imitated nature, little Jules Lefevre stretched out his hand to