After a little we slackened pace and went on slowly, until, towards midday, when about half a league--or perhaps less--from Chinon, we came upon a roadside inn, all covered with climbing roses in bloom, whilst the air was full of the cooing of numberless pigeons that circled around and perched upon a dovecote that looked like a tower. Here mademoiselle stopped, declaring that she would travel no farther that day; and accordingly, having made arrangements for our accommodation, I walked out with Diane into a long, straggling garden that lay at the back of the house. At the extreme end of the garden was a summer-house, and on entering this we found it occupied by an old man, who sat reading therein. We were about to draw back, but he rose, leaning upon a stout stick, and very courteously invited us to be seated. His hooded black cassock, and the tonsure which was visible, as he had removed his cap, marked the priest. He was very feeble, as we could see, though his eyes, bright and piercing, contrasted strangely with the deadly pallor of his cheeks. A straggling grey moustache and beard partly concealed his mouth, which was set in a smile half mirthful and half sardonic. I put him down as the cure of a neighbouring hamlet, as he gave us the benediction, and invited us to join him, saying as he did so: "Mademoiselle, I have long looked in dreamland for the lady who would be chosen above all others as Abbess of Thelema--and now, behold! you have come!" Plucking a rose as he spoke he bowed with old-world grace, and held it out with a shaking hand to Diane, who took it with a flush on her face, and thanks on her lips, but a puzzled look in her eyes. "I see, Monsieur le Cure," I said, "you are an admirer of Doctor Rabelais." "He is the most intimate friend I have, and, as you are doubtless aware, the Doctor is a townsman of Chinon." "That, perhaps, is his book you are reading?" "Alas, no! 'tis merely a Hebrew lexicon I was studying to decide a dispute I have with my friend Doctor Johannes Caballus of the University of Orange; but--you are learned in Hebrew, monsieur?" "I cannot say I am," I laughed, "though we meet on common ground in admiration of Rabelais." "In that case, monsieur, you and mademoiselle must be my guests at dinner. It is almost the hour, and we will dine here." And without waiting for a reply he seized a small handbell that lay beside him and rang it. In a little the host appeared, and the cure turned to him: "Is dinner, as I ordered it, ready?" "Monsieur!" "Then serve it here, and set the table for four. Mayhap the Doctor Johannes Caballus may join us. Let me see what there is for dinner. Ah! three sucking-pigs, and a fourth to follow in quince sauce, six capons, twelve pigeons, twelve quails, four legs of mutton _en brune pate_, twelve sweetbreads, four tongues, four veal----"