'Do not be alarmed; though I live in the territories of Duke Charles, I am Father Allan Colville, a priest of the Scottish college founded by Gregory XIII. at Pontamoussin, some miles from this, in the bailiewick of St. Michel, and have no interest in the quarrels of kings and dukes, though the young Prince of Vaudemont, who has a fancy for me, made me custodier of the reliques of St. Lucy, before which your companion is now at prayer. The sister of Vincent de Paule is your wife, I presume, in disguise?' 'No,' said I, colouring to the temples. 'Your sister, perhaps?' 'No,' I repeated, with increasing vexation; 'the exigencies of war force us to travel together, though we are neither kith nor kin.' 'Pardon me,' said the padre, adding (to change the conversation), 'perhaps you know that St. Lucy was a country-woman of our own?' 'Like St. Fiacre, I suppose; but you must excuse my ignorance, for I never heard of the good lady until to-day,' I replied, with a smile. 'She was the daughter of a king.' 'I am rather sceptical on these points, father,' said I, smiling again, 'for in France all the ancient saints are sons or daughters of kings, counts, and emperors. Sanctity in those days was increased by rank.' 'You will find in Camerarius and in the French Breviary that she was the daughter of a Scottish king, of Macbeth the Usurper; who, to atone for the crimes of her father, after escaping from the castle of Dunsinnane, retired in 1160 to serve God in obscurity. Wandering from our native land she reached the banks of yonder river, the Meuse, and choosing a solitary place, a wooded mountain in the diocese of Verdun, there built unto herself a cell, where she died, in 1190, in all the odour of sanctity, and was enrolled among the saints by the Bishop of Verdun, Henry of Blois, otherwise called of Winchester, brother of Stephen king of England. Great pilgrimages have been made to her reliques, which in the summer season are kept in the church of Mont St. Lucy, erected in her honour in 1625 by a prince of the house of Guise, who espoused a sister of the present Duke Charles IV.' 'This is a curious story,' said I; 'but I suppose these reliques are only a few bones.' 'Heaven pity thee!' exclaimed the old priest; 'bones, quotha! I would that you were one of the ancient faith to see the saint as we see her--to see her as if she died but yesterday.' 'Indeed!'