The Pocket Bible or Christian the Printer

ow window that opened upon the river. The moon, then on the wane, was rising in a sky studded with stars, and shed her

noise toward the bridge.

a woman. Several of our neighbors rushed to her aid with me an

er of St. Denis Street, with Etienne Laforge, the rich bourgeois of Tournay, and the architect Poille in the charitable work of gathering abandoned orphans

een locked up in the Chatelet, and her school been closed. Thanks, however, to the intervention of one of her relatives, who is in the service of Princess Marguerite, a protector of the

to you with all frankness. I am a stranger in Paris; you know the city. Could I find within the walls, or even without, some seclude

n. Outside of Paris, however, we need not apprehend the same watchfulness. I may be able to indicate some safe place to you. But before proceeding farther, I should make a confidential disclosure to you. A friend of mine and myself contemplate printing secretly a few handbills intended to propagate the reform movement. We are in the hope that, scattered through Paris, or posted

outside the wa

ion that a certain wide and deep grotto which he inspected will guarantee to us the seclusion and safety that we are in search of. If he is not mistaken, the meeting that you have mentioned to me might be held at M

y is suitable for my meeting, that it offers perfect safety; in what manner could the peo

ality had been carefully inspected. I shall be able

stworthy person whom I could commission to carry the letters of convoca

lf, if you will, monsieur. I real

fusion. "Oh, the times bode evil. The conversation that we had this evening with your brother-in-law was almost a revelation to me concerning

a? And what may

dence, and whom he hoped to capture, were reported to me. I was thereby e

ed up to the garret, and cautiously calling her husband, inter

e out of his room; I hear him comin

door of which opened into the chamber occupied by himself and his wife. Christian had just time to close noiselessly the door

you want,

grant me a few

poor friend Mary La Catelle is sharing your sister's bed; th