on. In more than one
confessional there were two penitents; and towards one of these, thus
doubly attended, I saw a very large, athletic, hard-visaged priest
hastening, just having slipt on his surplice in the vestry. Indeed I had
been cursorily introduced to him by the Count. It was Saturday evening, and
the ensuing Sunday was to be marked by some grand procession.

The village-like town of Guibray presents a most singular sight to the eye
of a stranger. There are numerous little narrow streets, with every window
closed by wooden shutters, and every door fastened. It appears as if the
plague had recently raged there, and that the inhabitants had quitted it
for ever. Not a creature is visible: not a sound is heard: not a mouse
seems to be stirring. And yet Guibray boasts of the LARGEST FAIR in France,
save one![172] This, my friend, precisely accounts for the aspect of
desolation just described. During the intervals of these _triennial_ fairs,
the greater part of the village is uninhabited: venders and purchasers
flocking and crowding by hundreds when they take place. In a short, narrow
street--where nothing animated was to be seen--the Count assured me that
sometimes, in the course of one morning, several millions of francs were
spent in the purchase of different wares. We left this very strange place
with our minds occupied by a variety of reflections: but at any rate highly
pleased and gratified by the agreeable family which had performed the part
of guides on the occasion. In the evening, a professor of music treated us
with some pleasing tunes upon the guitar--which utterly astonished the
Count--and it was quite night-fall when we returned homewards, towards our
quarters at the hotel of the _Grand Turc_.

A memorable incident occurred in our way homewards; which, when made known,
will probably agitate the minds and shake the faith of two-thirds of the
members of our Society of Antiquaries. You may remember that I told you,
when at Caen, that the Abbe De la Rue had notified to me what were the
objects more particularly deserving of attention in my further progress
through Normandy. Among these, he particularly mentioned a figure or head
of William the Conqueror at Falaise. In the _Place St. Gervais_, this
wonderful head was said to exist--and to exist there only. It was at the
house of an Innkeeper--certainly not moving in the highest circle of his
calling. I lost little time in visiting it; and found it situated at