A thousand thanks! Madame will pay for it at once; and laying down the money, she sweetly bows herself away, with the ring upon her finger. 'What a people!' ejaculated Lavinia, who always felt like a fly in a cobweb when she attempted to deal with the French, in her blunt, confiding way. 'It is great fun,' answered Amanda, flashing her ring with satisfaction after the skirmish. 'Will Madame kindly direct me to the house of Jacques Coeur?' she added, addressing an old woman clattering by in _sabots_. 'Allez toujours a droit en vous appuyant sur la gauche,' replied the native, beaming and bowing till the streamers of her cap waved in the wind. They followed these directions, but failed to find the place, and applied to another old woman eating soup on her door-step. 'Suivez le chemin droit en tombant a gauche' was the reply, with a wave of the spoon to all the points of the compass. 'Great heavens, what a language!' cried Lavinia, who had been vainly endeavouring to 'support' herself, as she 'fell' in every direction over and into the full gutters. The house was found at last, an ancient, mysterious place, with a very curious window, carved to look as if the shutters were half open, and from behind one peeped a man's head, from the other a woman's, both so life-like that it quite startled the strangers. Murray informed the observers that these servants are supposed to be looking anxiously for their master's return, Jacques having suddenly disappeared, after lending much money to the king, who took that mediaeval way of paying his debts. Service was being held in the church, and the ladies went in to rest and listen, for the music was fine. Much red and white drapery gave the sanctuary the appearance of a gay drawing-room, and the profane Lavinia compared the officiating clergy to a set of red furniture. The biggest priest was the sofa, four deacons the arm-chairs, and three little boys the foot-stools, all upholstered in crimson silk, and neatly covered with lace tidies. As if to rebuke her frivolity, a lovely fresh voice from the hidden choir suddenly soared up like a lark, singing so wonderfully that a great stillness fell on the listeners, and while it lasted the tawdry church and its mummery were quite forgotten, as the ear led the heart up that ladder of sweet sounds to heaven. Even when the others joined in, one could still hear that child-voice soaring and singing far above the rest, as if some little angel were playing with the echoes among the arches of the roof. A proud native informed the strangers that it was a poor boy whose exquisite voice was the pride of the town, and would in time make his fortune. As the choir-boys came racing down stairs after service, pulling off their dingy robes as they ran, Lavinia tried to pick out the little angel, but gave it up in despair, for a more uninteresting set of bullet-headed, copper-coloured sprigs she never saw.