the date of her interment he would never more exercise the functions of a knight; but, after having erected an abbey on the spot, sanctified by her remains, would assume himself the monastic habit, and daily visit her tomb to express his love, his grief, and his remorse.  He then, with difficulty tore himself from the body, and departed; having first sent a messenger to his castle to announce that he was arrived, but so much fatigued and way-worn, as to require nothing but repose and solitude.  His wife met him with her usual gentleness of affection; but instantly saw in his haggard looks that his heart laboured with some misery which her tenderness was unable to remove.  His manners were such as to awaken without satisfying her curiosity.  He rose at day break, spent some hours at prayers, walked alone into the forest, proceeded instinctively to the fatal hermitage, and returned late in the evening, bearing with him, as it appeared, an additional load of misery.  He saw with astonishment that death seemed to abstain from ravaging the beauties of Guilliadun; he involuntarily gave way to the most flattering hopes; and, after many long sad hours of tears and fruitless prayer, retired in anguish and disappointment.  On the third day he gave notice he should go to court, and pass the evening with the king.  His wife, in the mean time, by the promise of the most tempting rewards, had engaged one of her pages to follow his master at a distance, during his forest walk, and report what he should see and hear; and the page, having on that morning executed his commission, she determined to take advantage of Eliduc’s absence to visit the hermitage, and discover, if possible, the cause of that excessive grief to which he gave way; and of which the death of the old hermit, much as he might have loved him, was far from affording a satisfactory explanation.  She set forth with the page, entered the chapel, beheld, with much surprize, a bed handsomely ornamented; and, on lifting up the covering, saw, with still more astonishment, the young and blooming Guilliadun, “qui resemblot rose nuvele.”  The faultless beauty of a living rival might have excited some indignation in the bosom of the most patient wife, but the eyes of the lovely object before her, appeared closed for ever; and Guildeluec could find no place in her heart, for any sentiments but those of admiration and pity.  After calling her page to survey the spectacle which fully explained and excused her husband’s immoderate grief, she sat down by the bed to reflect on the past, and decide on her own future conduct.  During, the long absence of Eliduc she had devoted the greater part of her time to religious exercises, and now clearly saw that to them only could she look for comfort.  Having convinced herself of this necessity, she turned, with tears in her eyes, to the fair object of her husband’s regret; when a circumstance, apparently trifling, involuntarily arrested her attention.  A weasel, creeping from under the altar, ran upon