'I have come in search of you and Gabrielle,—Madeleine, I mean?'
'Where is Gabrielle?' asked his sister, looking up.
'She is in safe keeping,' answered the lad; 'and, if you and my mother wish for shelter, you can have it in the same house.'
'That entirely depends,' said madame; 'we are exceedingly comfortable here.'
'But the house is that of a curé, and when I told him that you and Madeleine were out, he insisted on my inviting you to partake of his hospitality.'
'A curé, did you say, Nicholas?'
'Yes, mother.'
'Mon Dieu! To think of my leaving the society of soldiers for that of priests! I am much obliged to him, but scarlet coats are a more cheerful sight than black cassocks. Do you think I am going to put my head into the lion's mouth? I have plenty of naughty little things on my conscience, but I don't want to precipitate myself into a confessional to-night. Thank you, Nicholas; I prefer to remain here, where I can have a good laugh, I am too wet and cold to endure the cold water and freezing to which a curé would subject me. In Lent, yes—not now.'
Madame's determination was received by the soldiers with satisfaction.
'You are all priest-bitten,' said madame; 'that is the mischief of you Swiss. There was once a spider called the Tarantula, and there was at the same time another spider called Curatus, and these two went forth a scamper one day, and the former entered France and bit the people here, and set them all dancing; and the other spider crawled over the Alps, and spun his web in Switzerland, and nibbled at the good folk there, and made them all conscientious. Mon Dieu! what it is to be conscientious!'