gossip. Tristan the Hermit, do you hear?” He added, as he glanced at the Place de Gr�ve around him, “‘Tis a name which has an echo here.”

“You might be Satan the Hermit,” replied Gudule, who was regaining hope, “but I should have nothing else to say to you, and I should never be afraid of you.”

“T�te-Dieu,” said Tristan, “here is a crone! Ah! So the witch girl hath fled! And in which direction did she go?” Gudule replied in a careless tone, —

“Through the Rue du Mouton, I believe.”

Tristan turned his head and made a sign to his troop to prepare to set out on the march again.

The recluse breathed freely once more.