"Never again. The carts resumed their march to this country, where I arrived with my fellow female slaves. All the women must have perished this morning ... and without the efforts of this brave girl I would have perished also."
"The Jew Mordecai," replied the goldsmith reflecting, "that dealer in the flesh of Gauls, a great friend of the intendant Ricarik, arrived here a few days ago. He was at the convent of St. Saturnine when the donation of this abbey was made to your son and his band. He must, undoubtedly, have run ahead to warn the abbess, and she, accordingly, made her preparations of defence against the warriors who came to dispossess her."
"The Jew was in a great hurry to arrive here after his departure from the convent of St. Saturnine, where he took me from," replied Septimine. "We were only three slaves and he packed us on his light wagon that was drawn by two horses. He must have arrived here two or three days ahead of the troop of the seigneur Berthoald, who must have been delayed on his march by his large baggage."
"So that the Jew must have notified Meroflede in advance, and must also have revealed to her the secret of the alleged Frankish chief being of the Gallic race," observed Bonaik. "Hence the terrible vengeance of the abbess, who must have had your son cast into that subterranean prison, expecting to expose him to certain death. The thing now is how to save him, and to protect ourselves from the vengeance of Meroflede. To remain here after your son's escape would be to expose these poor apprentices and Septimine to death."
"Oh, good father! What shall we do?" put in Septimine, joining her hands. "No one can penetrate into the building under which the seigneur Berthoald is imprisoned."
"Call him Amael, my child," said Rosen-Aër bitterly. "The name of Berthoald constantly reminds me of a shame that I would forget."
"To extricate Amael out of the cavern is not an impossible feat," said the old goldsmith, raising his head. "I have just been thinking it over. We have a fair chance of success."
"But, good father," asked Rosen-Aër, "what about the iron bars at the window of this workshop, and those at the air-hole of the cave in which my son is confined? And then that large and deep moat? What obstacles!"
"These are not the most difficult obstacles to surmount. Suppose night has set in and Amael is with us, free. What then?"
"Leave the abbey," said Septimine; "escape ... we shall all flee—"