followed--the humors of the fair--the crowded table at my uncle's--my
betrothal to Madeleine. What a different future then seemed to lie
before us to what awaited us now! Where was she? Should we meet soon?
Might we not be separated for ever? I cannot tell how many thoughts like
these passed through my mind as I limped after Antoine, who was himself
somewhat awkward in his gait, like many of the silk-weavers from sitting
so constantly at the loom.

Thus we passed through some of the by-ways of Montauban, and entered a
small house.




CHAPTER X.

"MY NATIVE LAND, GOOD-NIGHT"


The room we entered was destitute of furniture and blackened with smoke.
Heaps of broken fragments impeded our entrance and lay on the floor.
A man sitting on the ground was restlessly taking up one piece after
another, and laying them down again, muttering to himself, without
noticing us.

"I know not why they should have done so," he said hurriedly; "the poor
chairs and tables could not hurt. And, after all, when they hung me up
I gave in, and kissed the cross made by their swords; and they knocked
me about after that. If that was justice, I don't know what justice is.
They hurt my wife, too, or she would not have shrieked out so. And her