"I bring the worst of news," returned M. Bourdinave, sitting down. "The
Edict of Nantes is revoked."

"Ah!" and a general cry broke from us.

"What signifies it," said my mother, bitterly, "when already its
provisions have been set at nought? Are we any the better for it?"

"We may be yet worse for losing it," said M. Bourdinave. "Every Reformed
meeting-house in France is to be demolished; no private assemblages for
devotional purposes are to be allowed on any pretext whatever. All
Huguenot schools are to be suppressed; all children born of Huguenot
parents to be baptized and educated as Catholics; all non-conforming
ministers to quit the country within fifteen days, on pain of the
galleys."

"Let us rise, my children," cried my father in great agitation, "and
leave this country, which is no longer a mother to us, shaking the dust
off our feet. Alas, what am I saying? Whither can we go?"

"To England," replied M. Bourdinave. "I have already taken measures for
it."

"Heaven be praised!" cried we simultaneously.

"But it will be under circumstances of great hardship, difficulty, and
danger."

"Never mind; we willingly encounter them. Yes, yes," said one after
another.