I arrived at the angle of two streets. A fountain was flowing into a time-worn basin. I remembered the fountain; Monsieur d'Amercœur had praised the freshness of its water. The street to the right ought to lead to the Close of the Black Friars. I followed its tortuosity, which wound into the very heart of the city. A few poor shops displayed their wares. Chaplets hung beside horsewhips. The street suddenly grew wider. The high frontage of an old mansion appeared. I had seen several others of the sort here and there, but this one was noticeable by some peculiarities. It was built on a battered stone masonry. The windows, high above the soil, were grated. In former times they must have utilized those foundations on which arose the present edifice of severe architectural design. At the corner of the structure the street turned abruptly and descended by steps, gradually encircling the back of the building, which proved to be an ancient castle, a stronghold of which the blocks of stone were laid into the living rock. I recognized the Mansion d'Heurteleure. The street ended; before me I saw an avenue of poplars. Old stone sarcophagi, now empty, stood in rows amid the long grass where a pathway had been worn. To the right stretched a wall with a low door at the side. I started as I perceived it. It opened into the herb garden of the monks, the portal of whose convent could be seen at the end of the walk. I paused and approached the little mural door. It was massive and iron-bound. The keyhole was shaped like a heart. Continuing, I reached the convent porch and rang. The porter admitted me. Immense corridors led to vast halls. We ascended stairs, my guide gathering up the skirts of his frock as we mounted. We met no one. From the chapel, which I did not enter, came a droning psalmody of psalms. I was shown through several cloisters, one of them charming, square, full of flowers, and habited by doves, which grouped on the cornices like a natural, graceful bas-relief. From a church spire visible in the distance the horologe was ringing the hour. A great yellow sunflower was looking into the deep water of a well and reflecting there its golden disk, like a monstrance.