he blade),
which hung from a plain black leather waist-belt, broad as the palm of
the hand. The Abbe John, regarding himself at dawn in the spring near
the chapel of the Hermitage, remarked with pleasure that during his
sojourn upon the mountain his moustache had actually attained quite
respectable proportions. As for his beard, it still tarried by the way,
though he was pleased to say that in order to be respectable he must
seek out a hostelry and find there refreshment and a razor--"If" he
added, "mine host does not handle the blade himself"--an accomplishment
which was not at all uncommon among the Bonifaces of Roussillon.

So leaving the town and castle of Collioure away to the left, and far
below him, John d'Albret struck across the tumbled rocky country where
the last bastions of the Pyrenees break down to meet the chafe of the
Midland sea. He travelled by night, and as it was moonlight, made good
enough going. It was pleasant and dry. The mountain wind cooled him, and
many a time he paused to look down from the grey-white rocks upon the
sweep of some little bay, pebbly-beached, its fringe of sand and surf
dazzling white beneath the moon. He heard the sough and rattle as the
water arched, foamed a moment, plashed heavily, and then retired,
dragging the rounded stones downward in its suck.

John d'Albret meant to strike for Rosas, where he knew he might always
hope to find some French boats come in from the pilchard and sardine
fisheries about Ivitza and the Cape of Mallorca. He hoped for shelter on
one of these. There would certainly be countrymen of his, drinking and
running at large on the beach of Rosas. With them he would make his
bargain in money or love, according to the province from which they
hailed--the Norman for money, the Gascon for love, and the Provencal for
a little of both.

There was also an inn at Rosas--the Parador of the Chevelure d'Or. Some
few _ventas_ were scattered along the sea-front, hard to be
distinguished from the white fishermen's cottages, save for the evening
noises which proceeded from them when the crews of the vessels in the
bay came ashore to carouse. Altogether no better place for getting away
from the realms of King Philip seemed possible to John d'Albret.

The Bay (or Gulf) of Rosas is one of the noblest harbours in the
world--fifteen Spanish leagues from horn to horn, when you follow the
indentations of the coast. So at least avers the Geographer-Royal. But
it is to be