“Some day I hope to be really your friend,” replied Sir John seriously; “then you will confide in me, and I shall help you to bear your burden.” “And half my aneurism!--Are you hungry, my lord?” “Why do you ask?” “Because I hear Edouard on the stairs, coming up to tell us that breakfast is ready.” As Roland spoke, the door opened and the boy burst out: “Big brother Roland, mother and sister Amélie are waiting breakfast for Sir John and you.” Then catching the Englishman’s right hand, he carefully examined the first joint of the thumb and forefinger. “What are you looking at, my little friend?” asked Sir John. “I was looking to see if you had any ink on your fingers.” “And if I had ink on my fingers, what would it mean?” “That you had written to England, and sent for my pistols and sword.” “No, I have not yet written,” said Sir John; “but I will to-day.” “You hear, big brother Roland? I’m to have my sword and my pistols in a fortnight!” And the boy, full of delight, offered his firm rosy cheek to Sir John, who kissed it as tenderly as a father would have done. Then they went to the dining-room where Madame de Montrevel and Amélie were awaiting them. CHAPTER XII. PROVINCIAL PLEASURES That same day Roland put into execution part of his plans for his guest’s amusement. He took Sir John to see the church of Brou. Those who have seen the charming little chapel of Brou know that it is known as one of the hundred marvels of the Renaissance; those who have not seen it must have often heard it said. Roland, who had counted on doing the honors of this historic gem to Sir John, and who had not seen it for the last seven or eight years, was much disappointed when, on arriving in front of the building, he found the niches of the saints empty and the carved figures of the portal decapitated. He asked for the sexton; people laughed in his face. There was no longer a sexton. He inquired to whom he should go for the keys. They replied that the captain of the gendarmerie had them. The captain was not far off, for the cloister adjoining the church had been converted into a barrack. Roland went up to the captain’s room and made himself known as Bonaparte’s aide-de-camp. The captain, with the placid obedience of a subaltern to his superior officer, gave him the keys and followed behind him. Sir John was waiting before the porch, admiring, in spite of the mutilation to which they had been subjected, the admirable details of the frontal. Roland opened the door and started back in astonishment. The church was literally stuffed with hay like a cannon charged to the muzzle. “What does this mean?” he asked the captain of the gendarmerie. “A precaution taken by the municipality.” “A precaution taken by the municipality?” “Yes.” “For what?” “To save the church. They were going to demolish it; but the mayor issued a decree declaring that, in expiation of the false worship for which it had served, it should be used to store fodder.”