rossed on that awful night?"

"No; some miles lower down." And then I helped her to dismount, and
attended to the horses, whilst she borrowed my sword, and tying her
'kerchief to the point signalled to our men to come on.

There are days when all that happens is trivial, yet the memory of
which is ever to be marked in white; and this was such an one to me. I
let myself forget the impossible during that brief two hours' halt; nor
ever had I known Diane so gracious. We spoke much of Paris. She had
never seen the great city nor the Court, and I told her what I knew,
though my knowledge of the Louvre was a little old. As a child she had
seen the Queen once--on the day of the Lists of Amboise--and wondered
whether she were altered.

"She is much the same. Time has dealt gently with her."

"Is it true that in secret she is of our--I mean my faith?"

"It is said that she favours the new religion, but I know not if this
is true. It is certain, however, that she has never joined in the
persecution, and 'tis said that both D'Andelot and Marot owed their
escape to her."

"And you, monsieur--are you too of the faith?"

"Mademoiselle, I think, if the truth be told, that men who, like
myself, have lived much in the world do not bind themselves in their
hearts to this faith or to that, whatever they profess with their lips."

"But, monsieur----"

"Listen, mademoiselle. This does not mean that we do not know how
infinite is the distance between us and God nor how hard the road is to
His throne."

"There is the path of faith, monsieur."

"That is the path we search for, sometimes unconsciously; and perhaps,
with God's aid, I may find it ere I die."

Then there was a silence, and after that the talk drifted to other
things. And I but mention this conversation because it was due to it
and it alone that I was set upon the track that led to the True Road.

A little later Pierrebon, who was indulging his appetite for a good
sleep, awoke from his nap, and discovered it was time to be moving.
So, fording the river, we took our way north. Towards sunset we saw
the walls of the priory of Ile Bouchard, around which clustered the
houses of the village, like barnacles to a galley's side. On arrival
here I craved the hospitality of the good monks for the night, and this
was readily afforded us. Early the following morning, having bidden
farewell to our kind hosts, we looked our last on the grey pile, half
monastery and ha