“I do not know what we can do, Rosaline,� she said in evident perplexity; “he can come here, of course, and share our crust, if he will, but a guest, and an unknown one, would excite comment; and there is M. de Baudri.�
Rosaline made a grimace. “I wish M. de Baudri would stay with his dragoons in Nîmes,� she retorted. “But, grand’mère, there must be a way. Let us think and think, until we find it.�
“I cannot understand Charlot,� remarked Madame, meditatively. “We know he is a devout Romanist, yet this is not the first time I have known him to help the persecuted.�
“He is the strangest little man in the world,� replied Rosaline, “and I believe that his heart is as big as his poor misshapen body. He is strangely refined too, for his condition in life. Poor little Charlot!�
“Do you think he suspects our religion?� madame asked anxiously.
“I do not know,� her granddaughter replied slowly, “but sometimes I think so.�
“Mon Dieu!� murmured the old woman, with a sigh; “the axe hangs over our heads.�
Rosaline looked up surprised.
“Surely you do not fear Charlot?� she exclaimed. “Charlot!—why, he would no more betray us than would old Babet.�
“Babet is of the Religion; I trust no one else,� returned Madame de St. Cyr, gravely.