up at the foot of an abbey, of which the church still existing exhibits a
massive tower that might easily be mistaken at a little distance for an
early feudal keep. The lower part of this tower is Romanesque. The interior
of the church is in the very simple pointed style of the twelfth century,
but the interest has suffered much from restoration. What is chiefly
remarkable here is the carved oak of the reredoses and pulpit.

The English in 1422 took the town of St. Cyprien and besieged the abbey,
which was a veritable citadel where the inhabitants in the last resort
found shelter. A French force coming, however, to the relief of the people,
the English, who were probably not very numerous, deemed it prudent to
retire.

There being still an hour or more of daylight, I continued the ascent of
the hill above the houses and the solemn old church to find a certain
Chateau de Pages, which I knew to be somewhere in the locality. A woman
working her distaff and spindle with that meditative air which the rustic
spinners so often have, her bare feet slowly and noiselessly moving over
the rough stones, pointed out to me a little lane that wound up the
deserted hill between briars bedecked with scarlet hips and bits of ancient
wall to which ferns and moss and ivy clung, tinged by the waning golden
light. I passed through vineyards from which the grapes had been gathered,
then rose by broom and blackthorn to the level land.

I looked in vain for the castle. I might have searched for it until
darkness came, but for the help of a boy who was taking home a goat. At
length I found it lying in a hollow, a sufficient sign that it was never
a stronghold. In feudal times it was probably a small castellated manor
belonging perhaps to a knight who could not afford to build himself a
_donjon_ on some eminence and to fortify it with walls; but centuries later