“Well, you may tell me,� she said reluctantly.
“There was a young man there—in that tent— Nay, mademoiselle, I will say nothing more of it.� Le Bossu broke off, and then went on carefully: “He was in great anguish, and I saw that he was watched by a wicked old woman and one of the dragoons. I got him away to my house, and there I found he had no money, except one piece, and was in great trouble. He is—� the cobbler looked about keenly at the hedges, then he lowered his voice, “a Huguenot.�
“And what did you do with him?� Rosaline demanded eagerly.
“He is in my upper room now,� replied the hunchback, “but I do not know where he will go. He is not safe in Nîmes. I think he wants to join the Barbets, but, of course, he tells me nothing. He is a gentleman, mademoiselle, le Bossu knows, and very poor, like many of the Huguenots, and proud. I know no more, except that he was reckless enough to tell me his name.�
“What is it?� she asked, all interest now, and more than ever forgetful of her new slippers.
“François d’Aguesseau,� he answered, in an undertone, with another cautious glance behind him.
“’Tis all very strange,� remarked mademoiselle, regarding the worn face thoughtfully. “You are a good Catholic, Charlot, yet you imperil yourself to shelter a Huguenot.�
“The risk to me is very little,� he replied with great simplicity. “I am too humble for M. de Bâville, and how could I give him up? He is a kind young man, and in trouble; ah, mademoiselle, I also have had troubles. May the bon Dieu forgive me if I do wrong.�
“I do not think you do wrong, Charlot,� she said gently, “and I am sure the bon Dieu forgives you; but M. de Bâville will not.�
“I can die but once, mademoiselle,� he rejoined smiling.