and burghers of Roc-Amadour took council of one another, and it was unanimously agreed that the English had shown great ‘force and virtue’ during the day.  Then the wisest among them urged that the place could not hold out long against such an enemy, and that if it was taken by force they, the burghers, would be all hanged, and the town burnt without mercy.  It was, therefore, decided to surrender the town the next day.  This was accordingly done, and the burghers solemnly swore that they would be ‘good English’ ever afterwards.  For their penance they undertook to send fifty mules laden with provisions to accompany the English army on its march for fifteen days.  The fact that the burghers owned fifty mules in the fourteenth century shows how much richer they were then, for now they can scarcely boast half as many donkeys, although these beasts do most of the carrying, and even the ploughing.

It is difficult now to find a trace of the wall which defended the burg on the side of the valley; but here, not far above the bed of the Alzou, are some ruins of the castle where Henry II. stayed, and which the inhabitants still associate with his name.  It is improbable that he built it; it is more reasonable to suppose that it existed before his marriage with Eleanor in 1152.  His son, ‘Short Mantle,’ also used it when he came to Roc-Amadour, and behaved, as an old writer expresses it, ‘like a ferocious beast.’  Some ruined Gothic archways may still be seen from the valley, the upper stones yellow with rampant wallflowers in the early spring.  The older inhabitants speak of the high walls, the finely-sculptured details, etc., which they remember; and, indeed, it is not very long ago that the ancient castle was sold for a paltry sum, to be used as building material.  The only part of the interior preserved is what was once the chapel.  It is vaulted and groined, and the old vats and casks heaped up in it show that it was long used for wine-making, before the phylloxera destroyed the vineyards that once covered the sides of the stony hills.  A little below this castle is a well, with an extraordinary circumference, said to have been sunk by the English, and always called by the people ’Le puit des Anglais.’  It is 100 feet deep, and those who made it had to work thirty feet through solid rock.

* * * * *

After wandering and loitering by rivers too well fed by the mountains to dry completely up like the perfidious little Alzou, I have returned to Roc-Amadour, my headquarters, the summer being far advanced.  The wallflowers no longer deck the old towers and gateways with their yellow bloom, and scent the morning and evening air with their fragrance; the countless flags upon the rocky shelves no longer flaunt their splendid blue and purple, tempting the flower-gatherer to risk a broken neck; the poet’s narcissus and the tall asphodel alike are gone; so are all the flowers of spring.  The wild vine that clambers over the