is advantage.
Instead of fighting a rear-guard action he pursued the enemy, and
regained half his kingdom. The victorious army entered the city of
Trinqueballe, all beflagged and beflowered in its honour, and in that
illustrious capital of Vervignole it committed a great number of rapes,
thefts, murders, and other cruelties, burnt several houses, sacked the
churches, and took from the cathedral all that the Jews had left there,
which, truth to tell, was not much.

Maxime, who having become a knight and commander of eighty lances, had
largely contributed to the victory, was one of the first to enter the
city, and repaired straightway to the House of the Musicians, where
dwelt the beautiful Mirande, whom he had not seen since his departure
for the war. He found her in her bower, plying her distaff, and fell
upon her with such impetuosity that the young lady lost her innocence
without, so to speak, realizing that she had done so. And when, having
recovered from her surprise, she exclaimed: "Is it you, Seigneur Maxime?
What are you doing here?" and was preparing as in duty bound to resist
her aggressor, he was quietly walking down the street, readjusting his
armour and ogling the girls.

Possibly she would have entirely overlooked this offence, had it not
been that some time later she found that she was about to become a
mother. Captain Maxime was then fighting in Mambournia. All the town
knew her shame: she confided it to the great St. Nicolas, who, on
learning this astonishing news, lifted his eyes to heaven, and said:

"Lord, did you rescue this man from the salting-tub only as a ravening
wolf to devour my sheep? Your wisdom is adorable; but your ways are
dark, and your designs mysterious."

And in that same year, on the Sunday of Mid-Lent, Sulpice threw himself
at the feet of the holy Bishop, saying:

"From my earliest youth, my keenest wish has been to consecrate myself
to the Lord. Allow me, father, to embrace the monastic state, and
to make my profession in the monastery of the mendicant friars of
Trinqueballe."

"My son," answered the good St. Nikolas, "there is no worthier condition
than that of the monk. Happy is he who in the shade of the cloister
takes shelter from the tempests of the age. But of what avail to flee
the storm if the storm is within oneself? Of what avail to affect an
outward show of humility, if one's bosom contains a heart full of pride?
What shall you profit by donning the livery of obed