Sister Frances was impatient to talk to him and to visit the chateau, which she had never seen; but for some days after her arrival in the village she was so much fatigued and so weak that she could not attempt so long a walk.

Victoire had obtained permission from her mistress to accompany the nun for a few days to the country, as Annette undertook to do all the business of the shop during the absence of her companion.

Victoire was fully as eager as Sister Frances to see the faithful steward and the Chateau de Fleury, and the morning was now fixed for their walk; but in the middle of the night they were awakened by the shouts of a mob, who had just entered the village fresh from the destruction of a neighbouring castle.

The nun and Victoire listened; but in the midst of the horrid yells of joy no human voice, no intelligible word could be distinguished; they looked through a chink in the window-shutter and they saw the street below filled with a crowd of men, whose countenances were by turns illuminated by the glare of the torches which they brandished.
"Good Heavens!" whispered the nun to Victoire: "I should know the face of that man who is loading his musket--the very man whom I nursed ten years ago when he was ill with a gaol fever!" This man, who stood in the midst of the crowd, taller by the head than the others, seemed to be the leader of the party; they were disputing whether they should proceed further, spend the remainder of the night in the village ale-house, or return to Paris.

Their leader ordered spirits to be distributed to his associates, and exhorted them in a loud voice to proceed in their glorious work.