Remember that, brother, and spare not if your soul be burdened! They blaspheme God and call Him paste! In the paste of their own blood," he continued ferociously, "I will knead them and roll them out, saith the good Father Pezelay, my master!" The cripple crossed himself.

"Whom God keep," he said.

"He is a good man.

But you are looking ill, noble sir ?" he continued, peering curiously at the young Huguenot.
"'Tis the heat," Tignonville muttered.

"The night is stifling, and the lights make it worse.