“I have brought you a little book, sir,” said she, “knowing that you have here no office-book of your Church wherewith to assist your devotions. ’Tis a _Hugonot_ book, and belonged to my grandmother, that favoured that party. For this reason I can but lend it you, since it is very precious to me; but I entreat that you will retain it so long as we have the pleasure of your company here.” And thus speaking, she took the book from the child and gave it to me, I bowing low, and thanking her ladyship for her great kindness in so thinking upon me. And when she was departed, I did look into the book, and found it to contain the Psalter, rendered into French verse by one Mons. Clement Marot. On the first page was wrote in a woman’s hand, the ink now all faded, _Charlotte Anne de Tourvel, born de Galampré_, and on the margents of the leaves was there notes writ by the same hand in many places. All through the time of Mass I studied in the little book with great diligence, sitting in a shaded alcove on the wall of the palace, and listening to the tinkling of the little bells from the churches. But when I had finished, I put the book in my pocket, and set to communing with myself touching Madam Heliodora. And considering in my mind the space that I had known this lady, it seemed to me a thing incredible, as doubtless it will to you, that I had seen her for the first time little more than a week before, and that all my love was grown up in that span of time. And upon this I fell to asking myself whether it were possible that I had interpreted her actions wrongly, but remembered that all the poets and romancers were agreed that tears and blushes and deep agitation was a sign of love, and ’twas these very things that had first turned my thoughts that way. And so great was the joy that these considerations brought me, upon my now trying the dreams of the night by the wisdom of the day, that I could scarce contain myself, so that I must needs set to and walk all round the walls while the day was yet hot (a piece of extravagance that might justly have brought me a stroke of the sun), and so, being tired out, back to the palace to rest.