cursing the Bohemian women with endless imprecations. If the one of whom we are in pursuit is, as I suppose, the little dancer with the goat, she detests that one above all the rest.”

Gudule made an effort and said, —

“That one above all.”

The unanimous testimony of the men of the watch confirmed the old sergeant’s words to the provost. Tristan l’Hermite, in despair at extracting anything from the recluse, turned his back on her, and with unspeakable anxiety she beheld him direct his course slowly towards his horse.

“Come!” he said, between his teeth, “March on!

let us set out again on the quest. I shall not sleep until that gypsy is hanged.”