far distant district, the whole country was filled with terror. Wine, bread, and warm drink also revived the weary travellers, and Eustace and Bertrand with some others kept watch, that they might not be unexpectedly surprised. "Who lives in the upper story of your house?" inquired Edmond of the old woman.
"Ah! good heavens!" responded. she, "they are poor unfortunate people, whose property the wicked rebels have burnt. A peasant, a poor cousin of mine, has now fled to me with his daughter and his sister's son, and who knows whether the flambeau of wrath, with which the Lord of Hosts in his anger will light us home, is not already on its way to our little cottage. For where is safety, or security now a days as formerly? Verily, all is affliction and warfare, and the strangest fatality drives men here and there, as has happened only in old marvelous stories, and the troubles only increase, and suspicion becomes greater. Where one only sees a soldier, one might
