rehearsed, how much flattery was lavished, how many expressions of devotion and respect were employed--all this was lost in the buzz of the crowd. What was he to do? He could not wait for more than a week, as required by the bishop. The journey had cost him more than he could well afford, and the expense of the inn at Évreux would far exceed what his purse contained, if he deducted the twenty-five livres due to the bishop. He had determined not to give the money to the _officiel_, but to the prelate himself, and to explain to him the reason of his having broken the requirements of the Church. Entering the Cathedral, he seated himself in the aisle, where he could be alone and in quiet, to form a plan for seeing the bishop and coming to an explanation with him; but he could not hit upon any to his mind. He walked round the church, admiring its height, and the splendour of its glass. In the Lady Chapel he stood, and his lip curled with a smile as he observed, in one of the north windows, a bishop vested in cope and mitre, holding the pastoral staff in one hand, whilst with the other he threw open the cope to grasp a sword girded at his side, and exposed a suit of knightly armour, in which he was entirely enveloped. ‘Ah!’ said Lindet to himself, ‘when these panes were pictured it was as now, the shepherd’s garb invested the wolf. And what marvel! If the Church may not appoint her own pastors, how can she be properly shepherded? “Qui præfuturus est omnibus ab omnibus eligatur,” said S. Leo.’ The priest lingered on till late in the church. He was weary, and the Cathedral was more attractive than the little bedroom at the ‘Golden Ball.’ He took a chair in the chapel of S. Vincent, and was soon asleep. It was afternoon when the prince arrived, and the afternoon rapidly waned into evening dusk, and the dusk changed to dark. At nine, the Cathedral doors were locked, after a sacristan had made a hasty perambulation of the church to see that it was empty. Lindet did not hear his call, as he walked down the aisles crying ‘All out!’ and the verger did not observe the slumbering priest in the side chapel. Thus it happened that the curé was locked up in the church. It was night when he awoke; slowly his consciousness returned, and with it the recollection of where he was. He was much refreshed. The walk of many miles every day in hot sun had worn him out, and this quiet nap in the cool minster had revived him. The moon glittered through the windows, and carpeted the aisle floors. He rose from his chair, and leaving the chapel, bent his knee for a moment before the High Altar, where the lamp hung as a crimson star, and tried the north transept door which opened into the square. It was locked. He then sought the west doors, but found them also fast. Returning down the south nave aisle, he saw lights from without reflected through the windows on the groined roof, and strains of instrumental music were wafted in.