e in any language. Besides, they had fallen in at La Motte-Achard
with a sharp fellow named Guibert, who had been at sea, and knew a
little English, was a Norman by birth, knew who the Baron de Ribaumont
was, and was able to make himself generally useful, though ill supplying
the place of poor Osbert, who would have been invaluable in the present
predicament. Nothing was so much dreaded by any of the party as that
their chief should become utterly unable to proceed. Once let him be
laid up at one of these little _auberges_, and Philip felt as if all
would be over with him; and he himself was always the most restlessly
eager to push on, and seemed to suffer less even in the biting wind and
sleet than on the dirty pallets or in the smoky, noisy kitchens of the
inns. That there was no wavering of consciousness was the only comfort,
and Philip trusted to prevent this by bleeding him whenever his head
seemed aching or heated; and under this well-meant surgery it was no
wonder that he grew weaker every day, in spite of the most affectionate
and assiduous watching on his brother's part.

Nearly six weeks had been spent in struggling along the cross-roads, or
rather in endless delays; and when at last they came on more frequented
ways, with better inns, well-paved _chaussees_, and horses more fit for
use, Berenger was almost beyond feeling the improvement. At their last
halt, even Philip was for waiting and sending on to Paris to inform Sir
Francis Walsingham of their situation; but Berenger only shook his
head, dressed himself, and imperatively signed to go on. It was a
bright morning, with a clear frost, and the towers and steeples of Paris
presently began to appear above the poplars that bordered the way; but
by this time Berenger was reeling in his saddle, and he presently became
so faint and dizzy, that Philip and Humfrey were obliged to lift him
from his horse, and lay him under an elm-tree that stood a little back
from the road.

'Look up, sir, it is but a league further,' quoth Humfrey; 'I can see
the roof of the big church they call Notre-Dame.'

'He does not open his eyes, he is swooning,' said Philip. 'He must have
some cordial, ere he can sit his horse. Can you think of no lace where
we could get a drop of wine or strong waters?'

'Not I, Master Philip. We passed a convent wall but now, but 'twas a
nunnery, as good as a grave against poor travelers. I would ride on, and
get some of Sir Francis's folk to bring a l