Praise, blessing, and thanksgiving to my Lord!
For all He gives and takes be He adored!"
Dame Rochelle heard the approaching noise and tumult. She looked
out of the window and could see the edge of the crowd in the market-
place tossing to and fro like breakers upon a rocky shore. The
people in the streets were hurrying towards the market. Swarms of
men employed in the magazines of the Bourgeois were running out of
the edifice towards the same spot.
The dame divined at once that something had happened to her master.
She uttered a fervent prayer for his safety. The noise grew
greater, and as she reached out of the window to demand of passers-
by what was the matter, a voice shouted up that the Bourgeois was
dead; that he had been killed by the Grand Company, and they were
bringing him home.
The voice passed on, and no one but God heeded the long wail of
grief that rose from the good dame as she fell upon her knees in
the doorway, unable to proceed further. She preserved her
consciousness, however.
The crowd now swarmed in the streets about the doors of the house.
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