Finally I reached a street that was still in quietness, and halted under a lamp set in the wall of a house above the image of the Virgin. I looked around me. There were but few people stirring here, but some shops were open, and one of these, almost opposite to me, was a place where I saw that I might renew my apparel to some extent, and perhaps get another sword. My purse was still with me, and it was heavy enough, for I was rich in the world’s goods. I determined to act at once; so, crossing the road, I went into the shop and purchased what I wanted--a stout, serviceable sword and a good cloak. The shop-keeper tried to enter into converse with me about the events of the day, the death of the King, and other things, but I cut him short, and paying him his money, stepped out into the street. Once there, I walked on at a brisk pace toward the city gates. No one attempted to stop me, and passing through, I gained the river shore, and looked out for a ferry-boat, but there was not one in sight. I stood for a little, straining my eyes into the night. The moonlight fell soft and clear on the long quay, and on the slow, creeping river before me. Behind me was the city, and the hum of voices joined themselves to the dreamy lapping of the Loire at my feet. On the opposite bank of the river, the night lights of a few boats were burning, and farther still twinkled a long chain of camp-fires, marking the spot where the Constable lay. Thrice I hailed a boatman, calling loudly, but there was no reply, and I heard nothing except the hum from the city behind, and the whisperings of the stream before me. Seeing at last it was useless to waste time here, I turned to the left, and followed the river face, hoping to come across a boat, but with no results. Finally I stopped again and looked around. Yes! There was no doubt of it. I was close to the spot where Caillaud had suffered his martyrdom, on the day of our entry into Orleans. The scaffold was still there, the stacks of wood, not completely used, near it, and perhaps the ashes of the fire were still warm. I stepped up to the scaffold, and, as I did so, a homeless dog rose from behind the wood, and with a quick, short bark at me, fled into the shivering night. From the distance I heard him howling, and my heart sank within me as I thought how even a dog had fled in terror at my approach, a dog to whom I meant no harm.