of Eloquence, an
infinite distance behind. She had with her in the house two other sons,
the elder of whom was Alcalde of the little town of Collioure, and
therefore intimately linked with the great house of the Llorients, whose
turreted castle stood up grimly midway between St. Elne and La Masane.
The Alcalde of Collioure was a staid man of grave aspect, a grinder of
much corn during his hours of work, the master of six windmills which
creaked and groaned on the windy slopes above the sea-village. In his
broad hat-brim and in the folds of his attire there was always more or
less of the faint grey-white dust which hall-marks the maker of the
bread of men.

The Alcalde of Collioure thought in epigrams, explaining his views in
wise saws, Catalan, Castilian, and Provencal. French also he had at
call, though, as a good subject of King Philip, he thought, or affected
to think, little of that language. His brother, the lawyer of Elne,
attached to the bishopric by his position, was a politician, and never
tired of foretelling that before long Roussillon would be, even as Bearn
and Navarre, a part of a great and united France. The Bearnais would
hold the Pyrenees from end to end.

These three old bachelors, each according to his ability, did their best
to spoil Claire. And it was a nightly battle of words, to be settled
only by the Senora, who should sit next her at supper. With a twinkle in
his eye the Professor argued his seniority, the Mayor of Collioure his
official position, while the notary brazenly declared that being the
youngest and the best-looking, it was no less than right and just that
he should be preferred.

Madame Amelie miscalled them all for foolish old bachelors, who had
wasted their time cosseting themselves, till now no fair young maid like
Claire would look at any one of them.

"For me," she would say, "I was married at sixteen, and now my Anatole
owns to more than fifty years and is growing bald. Jean-Marie there
waxes stout and is a corn-miller, while as for you, Monsieur the Notary,
you are a fox who rises too late in the morning to catch many roosting
fowls!"

Claire had now been a month in the quiet of the Mas of La Masane, yet
she only now began to understand that Roussillon was a detached part of
the dominions of King Philip of Spain--though it was nevertheless _tras
los montes_, and under a good governor at Perpignan enjoyed for the
moment a comparative immunity.

But dark shadows loomed u