’I cannot tell, sir.  I am a poor fisher; but I could guide you to the place where old Gillot is always poking about.  He listened to their preachings, and knows more than we do.’

‘Let us go,’ said Berenger, at once beginning to stride along in his heavy boots through the deep sand.  Philip, who had hardly understood a word of the patois, caught hold of him, and begged to be told what had happened; but Master Hobbs drew the boy off, and explained to him and to the two men what were the dreadful tidings that had wrought such a change in Berenger’s demeanour.  The way over the shifting sands was toilsome enough to all the rest of the party; but Berenger scarcely seemed to feel the deep plunge at every step as they almost ploughed their way along for the weary two miles, before a few green bushes and half-choked trees showed that they were reaching the confines of the sandy waste.  Berenger had not uttered a word the whole time, and his silence hushed the others.  The ground began to rise, grass was seen still struggling to grow, and presently a large straggling mass of black and gray ruins revealed themselves, with the remains of a once well-trodden road leading to them.  But the road led to a gate-way choked by a fallen jamb and barred door, and the guide led them round the ruins of the wall to the opening where the breach had been.  The sand was already blowing in, and no doubt veiled much; for the streets were scarcely traceable through remnants of houses more or less dilapidated, with shreds of broken or burnt household furniture within them.

‘Ask him for la rue des Trois Fees,’ hoarsely whispered Berenger.

The fisherman nodded, but soon seemed at fault; and an old man, followed by a few children, soon appearing, laden with piece of fuel, he appealed to him as Father Gillot, and asked whether he could find the street.  The old man seemed at home in the ruins, and led the way readily.  ‘Did he know the Widow Laurent’s house?’

’Mademoiselle [footnote:  This was the title of bourgeoisewives, for many years, in France.] Laurent!  Full well he knew her; a good pious soul was she, always ready to die for the truth,’ he added, as he read sympathy in the faces round; ’and no doubt she had witnessed a good confession.’

‘Knew he aught of the lady she had lodged?’

’He knew nothing of ladies.  Something he had heard of the good widow having sheltered that shining light, Isaac Gardon, quenched, no doubt, in the same destruction; but for his part, he had a daughter in one of the isles out there, who always sent for him if she suspected danger here on the mainland, and he had only returned to his poor farm a day or two after Michael-mas.’  So saying, he led them to the threshold of a ruinous building, in the very centre, as it were, of the desolation, and said, ’That, gentlemen, is where the poor honest widow kept her little shop.’

Black, burnt, dreary, lay the hospitable abode.  The building had fallen, but the beams of the upper floor had fallen aslant, so as to shelter a portion of the lower room, where the red-tile pavement, the hearth with the gray ashes of the harmless home-fire, some unbroken crocks, a chain, and a sabot, were still visible, making the contrast of dreariness doubly mournful.