t. Denys gave way, but on condition that
once in Burgundy they should always stop at an inn. Gerard consented
to this the more readily that his chart with its list of convents ended
here. So they turned off the road. And now Gerard asked with surprise
whence this sudden aversion to places that had fed and lodged them
gratis so often. The soldier hemmed and hawed at first, but at last his
wrongs burst forth. It came out that this was no sudden aversion, but an
ancient and abiding horror, which he had suppressed till now, but with
infinite difficulty, and out of politeness: "I saw they had put powder
in your drink," said he, "so I forbore them. However, being the last,
why not ease my mind? Know then I have been like a fish out of water
in all those great dungeons. You straightway levant with some old
shaveling: so you see not my purgatory."

"Forgive me! I have been selfish."

"Ay, ay, I forgive thee, little one; 'tis not thy fault: art not the
first fool that has been priest-rid, and monk-hit. But I'll not
forgive them my misery." Then, about a century before Henry VIII.'s
commissioners, he delivered his indictment. These gloomy piles were
all built alike. Inns differed, but here all was monotony. Great gate,
little gate, so many steps and then a gloomy cloister. Here the dortour,
there the great cold refectory, where you must sit mumchance, or at
least inaudible, he who liked to speak his mind out; "and then,"
said he, "nobody is a man here, but all are slaves, and of what? of a
peevish, tinkling bell, that never sleeps. An 'twere a trumpet now, aye
sounding alarums, 'twouldn't freeze a man's heart so. Tinkle, tinkle,
tinkle, and you must sit to meat with may be no stomach for food. Ere
your meat settles in your stomach, tinkle, tinkle! and ye must to church
with may be no stomach for devotion: I am not a hog at prayers, for one.
Tinkle, tinkle, and now you must to bed with your eyes open. Well, by
then you have contrived to shut them, some uneasy imp of darkness has
got to the bell-rope, and tinkle, tinkle, it behoves you say a prayer in
the dark, whether you know one or not. If they heard the sort of prayers
I mutter when they break my rest with their tinkle! Well, you drop off
again and get about an eyeful of sleep: lo, it is tinkle, tinkle, for
matins."

"And the only clapper you love is a woman's," put in Gerard half
contemptuously.

"Because there is some music in that even when it scolds," was the stout
rep