The hunchback was silent for a few moments, his arms folded and his eyes on the floor.
“You must leave Nîmes,� he said at last; “you will betray yourself here. Meanwhile, there is a room overhead; if you wish you can stay there, free of rent, until you go.�
“Again, why do you do this?� asked the stranger.
The cobbler indicated his hump with a gesture.
“The bon Dieu made me so,� he said simply; “yet I am a scorn in the market-place, a miserable cripple. I swore to the saints that I would help the miserable.�
“You will take a risk,� remarked his companion,—“I am François d’Aguesseau, a Huguenot—�
“Hush!� The cobbler held up his hand. “I do not wish to know, M. d’Aguesseau. If you will take the upper room, ’tis yours.�
“I will take it while I can pay for it, at least,� said d’Aguesseau, “and I thank you.�
The hunchback rose, leading the way across the kitchen to the stairs. He walked slowly, and occasionally dragged one foot, but he ascended the steps with some agility, followed by his guest. There was a trap-door at the top, which he opened before they could step on to the floor above. D’Aguesseau knew that he was taking a great risk, that this might be a snare laid for those of the Religion, but he was, at the moment, a desperate and reckless man, and he cared little. He had entered Nîmes that morning, almost without money, he had just had his worst fears confirmed, and he cared little now for life or death.
They entered a room above the kitchen, where the cripple slept, and this opened into another small room over the shop. Both were clean, though poor and bare. The hunchback stopped before a shrine in his own chamber, and lighting a taper, set it before the Virgin.