ot to the king of France, he was
determined to offer his services. He perhaps took the wisest resolution
in the circumstances, in resolving to be guided by the advice of his
uncle; and, in the meantime, he put the money into his velvet hawking
pouch, and called for the landlord of the house, in order to restore the
silver cup--resolving, at the same time, to ask him some questions about
this liberal and authoritative merchant.

The man of the house appeared presently; and, if not more communicative,
was at least more loquacious, than he had been formerly. He positively
declined to take back the silver cup. It was none of his, he said, but
Maitre Pierre's, who had bestowed it on his guest. He had, indeed, four
silver hanaps of his own, which had been left him by his grandmother,
of happy memory, but no more like the beautiful carving of that in his
guest's hand, than a peach was like a turnip--that was one of the famous
cups of Tours, wrought by Martin Dominique, an artist who might brag all
Paris.

"And, pray, who is this Maitre Pierre," said Durward, interrupting him,
"who confers such valuable gifts on strangers?"

"Who is Maitre Pierre?" said the host, dropping the words as slowly from
his mouth as if he had been distilling them.

"Ay," said Durward, hastily and peremptorily, "who is this Maitre
Pierre, and why does he throw about his bounties in this fashion?
And who is the butcherly looking fellow whom he sent forward to order
breakfast?"

"Why, fair sir, as to who Maitre Pierre is, you should have asked the
question of himself; and for the gentleman who ordered breakfast to be
made ready, may God keep us from his closer acquaintance!"

"There is something mysterious in all this," said the young Scot. "This
Maitre Pierre tells me he is a merchant."

"And if he told you so," said the innkeeper, "surely he is a merchant."

"What commodities does he deal in?"

"Oh, many a fair matter of traffic," said the host; "and especially he
has set up silk manufactories here which match those rich bales that
the Venetians bring from India and Cathay. You might see the rows
of mulberry trees as you came hither, all planted by Maitre Pierre's
command, to feed the silk worms."

"And that young person who brought in the confections, who is she, my
good friend?" said the guest.

"My lodger, sir, with her guardian, some sort of aunt or kinswoman, as I
think," replied the innkeeper.

"And do you usually employ your guest