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'Promise that you won't talk to any but natives, or I decline to lead this expedition,' said Amanda firmly.
'I promise,' returned Mat, with penitent meekness.
'Now we've got her!' croaked the Raven; 'for she will have to learn French or hold her tongue.'
'The language of the eye remains to me, and I am a proficient in that, ma'am,' said Mat, roused by these efforts to deny her the right of free speech.
'You are welcome to it, dear;' and Amanda departed to buy tickets and despatch the trunks, with secret misgivings that they would never be found again.
'Now we are fairly started, with no more weighing of luggage, fussing over checks, or packing of traps to afflict us. What a heavenly sense of freedom it gives one, to have nothing but an independent shawl-strap!' said Matilda, as they settled themselves in a vacant car, and stowed away the bundles.
What a jolly day that was, to be sure! Whether it was the air, the good coffee, or the liberty, certain it is that three merrier maids never travelled from St. Malo to Le Mans on a summer's day. Even the Raven forgot her woes, and became so exhilarated that she smashed her bromide bottle out of the window, declaring herself cured, and tried to sing 'Hail Columbia,' in a voice like an asthmatic bagpipe.
Mat amused herself and her comrades by picking up the different articles that kept tumbling down on her head from her badly built bundle; while Amanda scintillated to such an extent that the others laughed themselves into hysterics, and lay exhausted, prone upon the seats.
They ate, drank, sung, gossiped, slept, read, and revelled, till another passenger got in, when propriety clothed them as with a garment, and the mirthful damsels became three studious statues.
The new-comer was a little priest; so rosy and young that they called him the 'Reverend Boy.' He seemed rather dismayed at first; but, finding the ladies silent and demure, he took heart, and read diligently in a dingy little prayer-book, stealing shy glances now and then from under his broad-brimmed hat at Amanda's white hands, or Matilda's yellow locks, as if these vanities of the flesh had not quite lost their charms for him. By and by he fell asleep, and leaned in his corner, making quite a pretty picture; for the ugly hat was off, his boyish face as placid as a child's, his buckled shoes and neat black-stockinged legs stretched comfortably out, his plump hands folded over the dingy book, and the little bands lay peacefully on his breast.
He was quite at their mercy now; so the three women looked as much as they liked, wondering if the poor dear boy was satisfied with the life he had chosen, and getting tenderly pitiful over the losses he might learn to regret when it was too late. His dreams seemed to be pleasant ones, however; for once he laughed a blithe, boyish laugh, good to hear; and when he woke, he rubbed his blue eyes and stared about, smiling like a newly roused baby.
He got out all too soon, was joined by several other clerical youths, and disappeared with much touching of big beavers, and wafting of cassocks.
Innocent, reverend little boy! I wonder what became of him, and hope his sleep is as quiet now as then—his awakening as happy as it seemed that summer day.
Six o'clock saw our damsels at Le Mans; and, after dinner, a sunset walk took them to the grand old cathedral, where they wandered till moonrise. Pure Gothic of the twelfth century, rich in stained glass, carved screens, tombs of kings and queens, dim little chapels, where devout souls told their beads before shadowy pictures of saints and martyrs, while over all the wonderful arches seemed to soar, one above the other, light and graceful as the natural curves of drooping branches, or the rise and fall of some great fountain.
'We shall not see anything finer than this, I'm sure. It's a perfect revelation to me,' said Matilda, in a calm rapture at the beauty all about her.
'This is a pious-feeling church, and I could say my prayers here with all my soul; for it seems as if the religion of centuries had got built into it,' added Lavinia, thinking of the ugly imitations at home.
'You will both turn Catholic before we get through,' prophesied Amanda, retiring to study the tomb of Berengaria, Cœur de Lion's wife.
The square before the hotel was gay with a market, many soldiers lounging about, and flocks of people eating ices before the cafés. The ladies enjoyed it from the balcony, and then slumbered peacefully in a great room with three alcoves, much muslin drapery, and a bowl and pitcher like a good-sized cup and saucer.
Another look at the cathedral in the early morning, and then away to Tours, which place they found a big, clean, handsome city, all astir for the Fête-Dieu.
'We will stay over Sunday and see it,' was the general vote as the trio headed for the great church, and, catching sight of it, they subsided into a seat by the fountain opposite, and sat looking silently at the magnificent pile.
How strangely impressive and eloquent it was! The evening red touched its grey towers with a mellow light, like sunshine on a venerable head. Lower down, flights of rooks circled round the fretted niches, quaint windows, and grotesque gargoyles, while the great steps below swarmed with priests and soldiers, gay strangers and black-robed nuns, children and beggars.
For an hour our pilgrims sat and studied the wonderful façade, or walked round the outside, examining the rich carvings that covered every inch of the walls. Twilight fell before they had thought of entering, and feeling that they had seen enough for that night, they went thoughtfully home to dream of solemn shadows and saintly faces, for the cathedral haunted them still.
Next day was spent in viewing Charlemagne's Tower, and seeing the grand procession in honour of the day. The streets were hung with garlands, gay tapestries and banners, strewn with fresh boughs, and lined with people in festival array. As the procession passed, women ran out and scattered rose-leaves before it, and one young mother set her blooming baby on a heap of greenery in the middle of the street, leaving it there, that the Holy Ghost under its canopy might pass over it. A pretty sight, the rosy little creature smiling in the sunshine as it sat playing with its own blue shoes, while the golden pageant went by; the chanting priests stepping carefully, and looking down with sudden benignity in their tired faces as the holy shadow fell on the bright head, making baby blessed, and saved for ever in its pious mother's eyes.
A great band played finely, scarlet soldiers followed, then the banners of patron saints were borne by children. Saint Agnes and her lamb led a troop of pretty little girls carrying tall white lilies, filling the air with their sweetness. Mary, Our Mother, was followed by many orphans with black ribbons crossed over the young hearts that had lost so much. Saint Martin led the charity boys in purple suits of just the colour of the mantle he was dividing with the beggar on the banner. A pleasant emblem of the charitable cloak that covers so many.
Priests in full splendour paced solemnly along with censers swinging, candles flickering, sweet-voiced boys singing, and hundreds kneeling as they passed. Most impressive figures, unless one caught a glimpse of something comically human to disturb the effect of the heavenly pageant. Lavinia had an eye for the ludicrous and though she dropped a tear over the orphans, and with difficulty resisted a strong desire to catch and kiss the pretty baby, she scandalized her neighbours by laughing outright the next minute. A particularly portly, pious-looking priest, who was marching with superb dignity, and chanting like a devout bumble-bee, suddenly mislaid his temper, and injured the effect by boxing a charity boy's ears with his gilded missal, and then capped the climax by taking a pinch of snuff with a sonorous satisfaction that convulsed the heretic.
The afternoon was spent in the church, wandering to and fro, each alone to study and enjoy in her own way. Matilda lost her head entirely, and had silent raptures over the old pictures. Amanda said her prayers, looked up her dates, and imparted her facts in a proper and decorous manner, while Lavinia went up and down, finding for herself little pictures not painted by hands, and reading histories more interesting to her than those of saints and martyrs.
In one dim chapel, with a single candle lighting up the divine