On the window of my bedroom I one day discovered the name of the author of "Gil Blas," Alain René le Sage (who was a Breton), written with a diamond, for he had once visited the chateau; this window overlooked the lake, which was covered by water-lilies, and bordered by long reedy grass, where the snipe lay concealed, and the tall heron waded in search of the gold-scaled barbel. Beyond this lake rose some steep and rugged rocks, nearly covered by the yellow bells of the wild gorse; and on the highest stood a haunted Druid stone, around which the fairies and the _poulpicous_ (their husbands) danced on certain nights. This stone, as Angelique assured me, bore a deep mark, the cut of Excalibur, the sword of King Arthur, who is peculiarly the national hero of the Bretons. How was I to get away from this secluded place? By sea every port and harbour were watched and guarded. If discovered, the jealous military authorities would certainly put me to death without much inquiry, as a spy; the peasantry as an invader; the local magistrates or lords, would be sure to dispose of me as _both_. This was a tormenting question which even my kind little nurse Angelique could in no way answer. Indeed, she detailed so many difficulties to be overcome, and so many dangers to be dared, that there seemed a probability of my spending the term of my natural life at the chateau of Bourgneuf, unless Commodore Howe with his fleet, and His Grace of Marlborough with at least ten thousand men, paid again a special visit to Brittany, the chance of which was very slender; and a conversation, a portion of which I was compelled to overhear, between Angelique and her lover Jacquot, served still more to increase my anxiety to be gone. He had come to announce the return of the countess in a few days, after a certain pilgrimage, in which she was to accompany Père Celestine and a train of devotees to the Hole of the Serpent, and see the silver cross of St. Suliac dipped three times in the lonely cave of La Guivre, a famous religious superstition of the Bretons. What I overheard took place on the fourth day of my convalescence. "So you are sulky and in a pet, Monsieur Jacquot?" said the _soubrette_, pouting, with her hands in the pockets of her little apron. "Perchance I have reason to be so, Mademoiselle Angelique," replied the other, with his hands thrust into his breeches pockets. "You think yourself very clever, no doubt!" "_Parbleu!_ what if I do?" "I have heard that when at school----" "Bah! don't talk of our days at school. All clever men are dunces there." "A clever boy _you_ must have been!" "_Morbleu!_" growled Jacquot; "a lover does not like to be laughed at." "In such a humour, Monsieur Jacquot, what in the name of goodness brings you to me?" "Say rather _badness_, mademoiselle, and it may better suit your disposition." "Indeed! are you jealous of anyone again? Monsieur de Boisguiller and his hussars are now gone to Rennes."