“You love the family at St Cyr, mon père?� he asked gravely.
Père Ambroise nodded his head in assent, smiling a little all the while and patting the shoe in his hands.
“Then I pray you to ask me no more questions,� the hunchback said.
“Ah!� ejaculated Père Ambroise, and there was much significance in his tone.
There was a long pause. Charlot took up his work, cutting away at the sole of a shoe, and his visitor sat quite still, his fat person spreading comfortably over the chair and settling into it, after the fashion of soft, fleshy bodies.
“You go often to St. Cyr,� he remarked at last; “do you know that M. Montrevel is determined to make a clean sweep of these Camisards—of all heretics, in fact; that he will cleanse Languedoc of this corruption?�
“’Tis the king’s will,� remarked le Bossu, with a sigh, “but there is much suffering.�
“‘If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off,’� Père Ambroise retorted placidly; “heretics must suffer—fire here and hereafter.�
As he spoke, he rose deliberately and replaced his purse in his pocket.
“My son,� he said kindly, “take no more such lodgers—that is my advice, and you know that I am your friend.�