"Monsieur," he said, in a full and frank tone of voice, "will you permit
me to look at your drawing?"

I returned his salutation, nodded in token of acquiescence, and went on
with my work. After a moment of silent contemplation, the unknown
equestrian, apparently yielding to the violence of his impressions,
allowed a few laudatory epithets to escape him; then, resuming his direct
allocution:

"Monsieur," he said, "allow me to return thanks to your talent; we shall
be indebted to it, I feel quite sure, for the preservation of these ruins,
which are the ornament of our district."

I abandoned at once my reserve, which could no longer be anything but
childish sulkiness, and I replied, as I thought I should, that he was
appreciating with too much indulgence a mere amateur's sketch; that I
certainly had the greatest desire of saving these beautiful ruins, but
that the most important part of my work threatened to remain quite
insignificant, for want of historical information which I had vainly tried
to find in the archives of the county-seat.

"Parbleu, monsieur," rejoined the horseman, "you please me greatly. I have
in my library a large proportion of the archives of the abbey. Come and
consult them at your leisure. I shall feel grateful to you for doing so."

I thanked him with some embarrassment. I regretted not to have known it
sooner. I feared being recalled to Paris by a letter which I was expecting
this very day. Nevertheless, I had risen to make this answer, the ill
grace of which I strove to attenuate by the courteousness of my attitude.
At the same time, I formed a clearer idea of my interlocutor; he was a