winding streets and out at the corner, stands the restored house of
Diane de Poitiers, so sentient and alive in its very look that one
almost expects to see at the quaint windows the beautiful wicked
face of the woman who swayed the humours of a king by her smile or
her frown.

Cardinal Bonpre, walking past the stately fourteenth-century Gothic
pile of the Palais de Justice, thought half-vaguely of some of these
things,--but they affected him less than they might have done had
his mind not been full of the grand music he had just heard in the
Cathedral, and of the darkness that had slowly gathered there, as
though in solemn commingling with the darkness which had at the same
time settled over his soul. A great oppression weighed upon him;--
almost he judged himself guilty of mortal sin, for had he not said
aloud and boldly, while facing the High Altar of the Lord, that even
in the Church itself faith was lacking? Yes, he, a Cardinal-
Archbishop, had said this thing; he had as it were proclaimed it on
the silence of the sacred precincts,--and had he not in this, acted
unworthily of his calling? Had he not almost uttered blasphemy?
Grieved and puzzled, the good Felix went on his way, almost
unseeingly, towards the humble inn where he had elected to remain
for the brief period of his visit to Rouen,--an inn where no one
stayed save the very poorest of travellers, this fact being its
chief recommendation in the eyes of the Cardinal. For it must be
conceded, that viewed by our latter-day ideas of personal comfort
and convenience, the worthy prelate had some very old-world and
fantastic notions. One of these notions was a devout feeling that he
should, so far as it was humanly possible, endeavour to obey the
Master whose doctrine he professed to follow. This, it will be
admitted, was a curious idea. Considering the bold and blasphemous