A pray'r book in your hand, my Lord, were well,
For on that ground I'll make an holy descant.

and M. de Chateaubriand will no doubt trumpet forth the devotion and
Christian humility of his master. Those, however, who are at all acquainted
with this prince's habits, and are not interested in palliating or
concealing them, insinuate that his devotions at the table are more sincere
than at the altar and that, like the Giant Margutte in the Morgante
Maggiore of Pulci, he places more faith and reliance on a cappone lesso
ossia arrosto than on the consecrated but less substantial wafer.[2]

After contemplating this edifying spectacle, we returned to our inn, and
the next morning after breakfast we set out on our journey to Bruxelles.
The road is exactly similar to that between Bruges and Gand, but the
country appears to be richer and more diversified, and many country houses
were observable on the road side. We passed thus several neat villages. At
one o'clock we stopped at Alost to refresh our horses and dine. At the
table d'hôte were a number of French officers belonging to the Gardes du
Corps. On entering into conversation with one of them, I found that he as
well as several others of them had served under Napoleon, and had even been
patronised and promoted by him; but I suppose that being the sons of the
ancient _noblesse_ they thought that gratitude to a _parvenu_ like him was
rather too plebeian a virtue. Some of them, however, with whom I conversed
after dinner seemed to regret the step they had taken. "If we are
successful," said they, "it can only be by means of the Allied Armies, and
who knows what conditions they may impose on France? If we should be
unsuccessful, we are exiled probably for life from our country." During
dinner, two pretty looking girls with musical instruments entered the hall,
and regaled our ears with singing some romances, among which were _Dunois
le Troubadour_ and _La Sentinelle_. They sang with much taste and feeling.