d Mary, with pious horror. "That's
not the way to talk of the holy offices."

"I wish I had old Maurice Dulang here, the priest of Trois Rivieres,
he's the boy could despatch them without trouble."

Neither Lanty nor Mary gave any encouragement to Flahault's new turn of
the conversation, and so, addressing himself to Talbot, he went on--

"We were dining together one day, at the little inn at Trois Rivieres,
when a messenger came from Lachegon, for the Pere to administer the last
rites to a 'mourant.' Maurice promised to be there in half-an-hour,
but never stirred--and though three other messengers came for him, the
answer was all the same--until, at last came word, '_Cest trop tard, il
est mort_.'

"'_Trop tard!_' said Maurice, 'not a bit of it; give me a pen and ink,
and some paper.' With that he folded a piece, note fashion, and wrote--

"'Mon cher Pierre--Fais ton petit possible pour cet pauvre diable, qui
s'est glisse hors du monde sans mes soins. Apparement il etait bien
presse; mais tu l'arrangera pour le mieux.

"'Ton viel ami.'

"'Maurice Dulang. "'St. Pierre, a la Conciergerie au Paradis.'

"'Put that in his mouth,' said Maurice, 'and there's no fear of him.'"

"'Twas a blessed gospel he gave him," said Mary, who did not comprehend
the French portion of the story, "and sure it's as good as any thing."

"We all thought so, Mary. Poor Maurice related the story at Lyons, when
he was led out to the guillotine--but though the Commissaire laughed
heartily, and enjoyed it much, they had found a breviary in his
portmanteau, and they couldn't let him off. Pauvre bete! To travel about
the world with the 'piece de conviction' in his possession. What, Harry,
no more wine?"

"I thank you, no more for me, although that claret is a temptation."

"A bouquet, every glass of it! What say you, Master Lawler--does it suit
your palate?"

"I begin to think it a taste cold, or so, by this time," said Lanty;
"I'm not genteel enough for wine, God help me--but it's time to turn in,
any how--and there's Mary asleep already."

"I don't stir till I finish the flask," said Jacques, firmly; "and if
you won't drink, you needn't grudge me your company. It's hard to say
when we meet again. You go northward, Talbot, isn't that so?

"Yes, and that's the point I wish to come to--where and how shall I find
a mount?--I depended on this priest you spoke of to meet me, but he has
not made his appearance."

"You never fell upon your