and after some parleying at the door of Father Jogues' apartment,
received the garment and brought it to his lady.

"We will take our needles, and sit by the hall fire," said Marie to
Antonia. "Did you note the raggedness of Father Jogues' cassock? I am an
enemy to papists, especially D'Aulnay de Charnisay; but who can harden
her heart against a saint because he patters prayers on a rosary? Thou
and I will mend his black gown. I cannot see even a transient member of
my household uncomfortable."

The soldier put two waxlights on the table by the hearth, and withdrew
to the stairway. He was there to guard as prisoner the priest for whom
his lady set herself to work. She drew her chair to Antonia's and they
spread the cassock between them. It had been neatly beaten and picked
clear of burrs, but the rents in it were astonishing. Even within
sumptuous fireshine the black cloth taxed sight; and Marie paused
sometimes to curtain her eyes with her hand, but Antonia worked on with
Dutch steadiness. The touch of a needle within a woman's fingers cools
all her fevers. She stitches herself fast to the race. There is safety
and saneness in needlework.

"This spot wants a patch," said Antonia.

"Weave it together with stitches," said Marie. "Daughter of presumption!
would you add to the gown of a Roman priest?"

"Priest or dominie," commented Antonia, biting a fresh thread, "he would
be none the worse for a stout piece of cloth to his garment."

"But we have naught to match with it. I would like to set in a little