on to Granville?"

He spoke very slowly and distinctly, with a clear, cordial voice, which
filled me with confidence. I could hardly distinguish his features, but
his hair was silvery white, and shone in the gloom, as he still stood
bareheaded before me, though the rain was falling fast.

"Take care of us, monsieur?" I replied, putting my hand in his; "we will
go with you."

"Make haste then, my children," he said, cheerfully; "the rain will hurt
you. Let me lift the _mignonne_ into the _char a bancs_. Bah! How little
she is! _Voila!_ Now, madame, permit me."

There was a seat in the back of the _char a bancs_ which we reached by
climbing over the front bench, assisted by the driver. There we were
well sheltered from the driving wind and rain, with our feet resting
upon a sack of potatoes, and the two strange figures of the Norman
peasant in his blouse and white cotton cap, and the cure in his hat and
cassock, filling up the front of the car before us.

It was so unlike any thing I had foreseen, that I could scarcely believe
that it was real.

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.

THE CURE OF VILLE-EN-BOIS.

"They are not Frenchwomen, Monsieur le Cure," observed the driver, after
a short pause. We were travelling slowly, for the cure would not allow
the peasant to whip on the shaggy cart-horse. We were, moreover, going
up-hill, along roads as rough as any about my father's sheep-walk, with
large round stones deeply bedded in the soil.

"No, no, my good Jean," was the cure's answer; "by their tongue I should
say they are English. Englishwomen are extremely intrepid, and voyage
about all the world quite alone, like this. It is only a marvel to me
that we have never encountered one of them before to-day."

"But, Monsieur le Cure, are they Christian?" inquired Jean, with a
backward glance at us. Evidently he had not altogether recovered from
the fright we had given him, when we appeared suddenly from out of the
gloomy shadows of the cypresses.

"The English nation is Protestant," replied the cure, with a sigh.

"But, monsieur," exclaimed Jean, "if they are Protestants they cannot be
Christians! Is it not true that all the Protestants go to hell on the
back of that bad king who had six wives all at one time?"

"Not all at one time, my good Jean," the cure answered mildly; "no, no,
surely they do not all go to perdition. If they know any thing of the
love of Christ, they must be Christians, however feeble and ignorant