and deep black had spurred his horse to the river’s brink, and was deliberately taking aim at her.  Furious at such brutality, Berenger fired the pistol he held in his hand, and the wretch dropped from his horse; but at the same moment his pistol exploded, and the child rolled down the bank, whence a piteous wail came up, impelling Berenger to leap down to her assistance, in the full face of the enemy.  Perhaps he was protected for the moment by the confusion ensuing on the fall of the officer; and when he reached the bottom of the bank, he saw the little creature on her feet, her round cap and gray woolen dress stripped half off in the fall, and her flaxen hair falling round her plump, white, exposed shoulder, but evidently unhurt, and gathering yellow marigolds as composedly as though she had been making May garlands.  He snatched her up, and she said, with the same infantine dignity, ’Yes, take me up; the naughty people spoilt the path.  But I must take my beads first.’  And she tried to struggle out of his arms, pointing therewith to a broken string among the marshy herb-age on which gleamed—­the pearls of Ribaumont!

In the few seconds in which he grasped them, and then bore the child up the embankment in desperate bounds, a hail of bullets poured round him, ringing on his breastplate, shearing the plume from his hat, but scarcely evenheard; and in another moment he had sprung down, on the inner side, grasping the child with all his might, but not daring even to look at her, in the wondrous flash of that first conviction.  She spoke first.  ’Put me down, and let me have my beads,’ she said in a grave, clear tone; and then first he beheld a pair of dark blue eyes, a sweet wild-rose face—­Dolly’s all over.  He pressed her so fast and so close, in so speechless and over powering an ecstasy, that again she repeated, and in alarm, ‘Put me down, I want my mother!’

‘Yes, yes! your mother! your mother! your mother!’ he cried, unable to let her out of his embrace; and then restraining himself as he saw her frightened eyes, in absolute fear of her spurning him, or struggling from him, ‘My sweet! my child!  Ah! do you not know me?’ Then, remembering how wild this was, he struggled to speak calmly:  ‘What are you called, my treasure?’

‘I am la petite Rayonette,’ she said, with puzzled dignity and gravity; ’and my mother says I have a beautiful long name of my own besides.’

‘Berangere—­my Berangere—–­’

’That is what she says over me, as I go to sleep in her bosom at night,’ said the child, in a wondering voice, soon exchanged for entreaty, ’Oh, hug me not so hard!  Oh, let me go—­let me go to her!  Mother! mother!’

‘My child, mine own, I am take thee!—­Oh, do not struggle with me!’ he cried, himself imploring now.  ‘Child, one kiss for thy father;’ and meantime, putting absolute force on his vehement affection, he was hurrying to the chancel.

There Philip hailed them with a shout as of desperate anxiety relieved; but before a word could be uttered, down the stairs flew the Lady of Hope, crying wildly, ‘Not there—­she is not—­’ but perceiving the little one in the stranger’s arms, she held out her own, crying, ‘Ah! is she hurt, my angel?’