The laughing group of children was already far away. The sacked nun sought with her eyes some passer-by whom she might question.

All at once, beside her cell, she perceived a priest making a pretext of reading the public breviary, but who was much less occupied with the “lectern of latticed iron,” than with the gallows, toward which he cast a fierce and gloomy glance from time to time. She recognized monsieur the archdeacon of Josas, a holy man.

“Father,” she inquired, “whom are they about to hang yonder?”

The priest looked at her and made no reply; she repeated her question. Then he said, —

“I know not.”

“Some children said that it was a gypsy,”