On the opposite side of the moat, a crowd of hungry women and children strained their eyes to see the nobles and high clergy eat and drink, which was only next best to themselves eating. ‘So we are going to have the States-general, after all,’ said the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, a noble-looking man, with a frank, open countenance, full of light and dignity. ‘Yes,’ answered the prince; ‘His Majesty cannot withdraw his summons.’ ‘You speak as if he wished to do so,’ said M. de la Rochefoucauld. ‘I am not privy to his wishes,’ answered Louis Stanislas with a smile on his heavy face; ‘let us not talk of politics, they are dull and dispiriting subjects.’ Then, turning to the bishop, he said: ‘Monseigneur, I think you could hardly choose a more delightful retreat than this of yours. To my taste, it is charming. You are really well off to have such a capital palace and such delightful gardens. If I were you, nothing would induce me to change them. Why, look at the Archbishop of Rouen---- By the way, how is the archbishop?’ he turned to the duke, whose kinsman the prelate was. ‘I heard he had been seriously unwell.’ The Duke de la Rochefoucauld assured ‘monsieur’ that the cardinal was much better; in fact, almost well. ‘That is right,’ said the prince. Then again addressing his host, he continued: ‘No, I assure you, nothing in the world would induce me, were I you, my Lord Bishop, to desert this see for another.’ ‘I am hardly likely to have the chance put in my way,’ said the bishop. ‘And then,’ pursued Louis, ‘who, having once built his nest in charming Normandy, would fly to other climes? You are a brave Norman by birth, I believe, monseigneur?’ Louis had an unfortunate nack of getting upon awkward subjects. This arose from no desire of causing annoyance, but from sheer obtuseness. He resembled his brother the King in being utterly dull, with neither wit nor vice to relieve the monotony of a thoroughly prosaic character. ‘No, your grace,’ answered the bishop, slightly reddening, ‘I belong to a Navarre family. The family castle of Lara is in Spain. The name Lara is territorial, and was adopted on the family receiving the Spanish estates and Castle----’ ‘Excuse me,’ said the prince, interrupting him; ‘but I think, my dear Lord, we have a ghost before us.’ The bishop looked up from his plate, on which his eyes had rested whilst narrating the family history, and saw immediately opposite him, standing below the daïs, in ragged cassock, with the buttons worn through their cloth covers, with dusty shoes, and with a pale, eager face quivering with feeling, Thomas Lindet, curé of S. Cross at Bernay.