Lord Montagu's Page. G. P. R. James

sail from Rochelle would not be renewed ere their resting-place for the night was reached. At length, about eight o'clock, on looking from the portière of the coach, Edward thought he saw either a little mound or a heavy pile of building before him, and in about ten minutes the horses' feet clattered over the stone pavement of a court. The leader of the escort had gone on before; and now, as Master Ned and his fair companion alighted, they found the good soldier standing under a heavy stone portal, conversing with a man in a monk's gown.

      "It looks like a prison," said Lucette, as she gazed up by the light of a lantern.

      She spoke in a low voice; but her words caught the ear of the monk, who replied, "This is the Abbey of Moreilles, young gentleman. I will take you first to the strangers' parlor, and then will show you round the building, if you like; for your escort tells me you propose to go on by daybreak, and you should not miss the opportunity of seeing so famous an edifice."

      Lucette replied that she was very tired, and should prefer to lie down to rest; but Edward caught eagerly at the proposal, from several motives. First, he was anxious to keep Lucette as far as possible from the monk's eye, and was even afraid that her sweet voice might betray her; and then he had his reasons for observing accurately every part of the building.

      "Well, well, I will take you round in a minute or two," replied the monk; "but I must first see that some of the cells are ready, for this good gentleman tells me that you two young people are very devout, and would like best to sleep in cells where saints have lived and died in the odor of sanctity. Here, here is the parlor. Let me light a lamp. Most of the brethren have retired, for it has been very hot this evening. What changes of weather, good lack! Yesterday was as cold as Noël, and to-night it is as warm as St. John's."

      While he spoke, he lighted a small lamp, with shaking hands, and then left the three in the parlor together, going himself to prepare the cells.

      "Now listen, young people," said the soldier, as soon as the monk was gone, speaking quick, but low: "keep ready and wakeful, and at three o'clock it shall go hard but you shall find a boat, with a man in it, upon the canal at the back of the abbey. Go with that man wherever he rows you."

      "But how shall I find the boat, or the canal either?" asked Edward. "Remember, I have never been here before."

      "As we go round the building," replied the other, "I will show you the door which is always left open for the drones who sleep in this wing of the abbey to find their way to the church at matins. I will pinch your arm as we pass it. God wot! if they did not leave it open, their winking eyes would lead them into the canal. That old fellow must make haste, or we shall have my comrades with us; and it were better not till Master Page has gone to his cell. You had better give them plenty of drink, young gentleman, that they may stupefy themselves to-night and sleep heavily to-morrow morning. I have got two miles on foot to go to see a friend, but will be back in an hour or two. Ply them well while I am gone; but, mind you, keep your own head clear."

      "But shall I find any liquor here?" asked Edward, in some surprise.

      The soldier nodded his head, and pointed to a number of stains upon the table, saying, "I have had more than one roaring bout in this very room. Those stains were not made with water. Every thing can be had for money in a moustèr."

      "But I had better give you what I promised before the monk comes back," said Edward—the word money awakening many other ideas.

      "Let me see how much you have got," said the man: "you will need some for your two selves; and, besides, there is that long thin fellow with a red face—that servant of yours. Do not let him drink. Let us see."

      Edward took out his purse of doeskin, which now contained about seventeen hundred livres in gold. What between the purchase of the horses, and various expenses at the inns, the rest was all spent, though it was better furnished when he left Rochelle; and there was more in his bags, probably lost forever.

      "That is not enough to give me a thousand livres," said the man; "but the three horses are worth something. That one you ride is a good one, and so is the young lady's—the page's, I mean. Give me five hundred, and write me a promise of the horses in payment of the rest of the sums I have advanced—the horses to be given up to me when you get to the end of your journey, which will be here, I suppose, but which they will understand as Nantes. That will give me a right to claim them."

      Now, it is quite possible that one, if not more, of my sagacious readers will be inclined to think that I have been drawing an inconsistent character. It is very true the soldier was a right generous and a kind-hearted fellow. He liked to do a good turn. He liked especially to help two young lovers—by-the-way, he had been crossed in love himself, though his history would be too long to tell here—and yet he was not unwilling to take money out of their pockets when they had little enough, and to secure their horses for his own advantage. It was very inconsistent—very inconsistent indeed. But I have now lived a tolerable number of years in the world, and all my life I have been looking for consistent men, and have not found more than six at the utmost. The fact is, man is a bundle—a bundle of very contrary qualities—to say nothing of the mere absolute opposition of body and soul in the mass. There are packages of good feelings and packages of bad feelings; rolls of wit and rolls of dullness; papers full of sense and papers full of nonsense; a lump of generosity here and a lump of selfishness there; and all tied up so tightly together that in a damp and foggy world they sooner or later mould and mildew each other. Thus, if I hear of a great man doing a little action, or a wise man committing a foolish one, instead of crying out, "How inconsistent!" I say, "It is very natural." Now, if it be very natural everywhere, it is still more natural in France; for, having inhabited that beautiful country and lived amongst her gallant and intellectual people a great part of my life, I have come to the conclusion that the most varied creature upon the face of the earth per se—in himself, in his own nature and composition—is a Frenchman.

      While the soldier has been making all his arrangements with Master Ned, and while we have been discussing the knotty point of his inconsistency, &c., the old monk, with the lantern in his hand, has been getting ready two cells at the farther end of the long corridor, and the troopers and Pierrot, together with the driver of the coach, have been taking care of the horses. But the monk, having the least to do—for the furniture of a cell is not usually superabundant, nor its bed difficult to make—returns first, and conducts Lucette to her sleeping-place, without the slightest idea that she is any thing but a very pretty boy; for his eyes are not very clear, and the lantern dimmer than his eyes, and the lamp upon the table duller than the lantern. Edward Langdale accompanied them to see her cell. It was next to his own—a pleasant proximity; and, telling her he would presently bring her some refreshment, he left her. As he walked slowly back with the monk, he came upon the subject of some stronger liquor than water—at which the old man looked shocked; but, upon Edward alluding to the stains upon the table, and bestowing a donation—entirely for the abbey—the ferocity of his temperance abated, and he ran to the refectory-man, or some other competent officer, with whom he shared his gains, and informed him what a generous young gentleman they had got under their roof. The supper did not suffer in consequence; but, while it was preparing, Edward and the soldier accompanied the old man through church and cloisters, passages and corridors. Neither gained much knowledge of architecture, or of the particular Abbey of Moreilles. I would advise no one who wishes to criticize that of Westminster to go there at night with nothing but a bad tallow candle in a dirty lantern; and, though I have it upon good authority that before the conflagration Moreilles was decorated with the most beautiful flamboyant arches, mouldings hardly surpassed in richness, and, moreover, twenty-six cluster-columns of prodigious height, each with an exquisite capital totally different from all the others, Edward saw nothing but dark vaults, masses of stone, and a door. But that door was all he wanted to see; and as he passed it the soldier gave him a good hard pressure on the arm. It was, luckily, within about ten paces of Lucette's cell.

      However, on reaching the strangers' parlor, the little party found the troopers and Pierrot and the driver, and three more monks, and, what was more to the purpose, a table laid with several large pies and a quantity of barley-bread. The means of potation had not yet appeared, but tarried not long; and a meal ensued which I need not