frontier, and arrived at a vast space enclosed on one side by a noble river, and on all the others by forests and swamps, hedges and ditches.  In the middle of this space was a large dwelling, which was Morvan’s.  Ditcar found it full of warriors, the king having, no doubt, some expedition on hand.  The monk announced himself as a messenger from the emperor of the Franks.  The style of announcement caused some confusion, at first, to the Briton, who, however, hasted to conceal his emotion under an air of good-will and joyousness, to impose upon his comrades.  The latter were got rid of; and the king remained alone with the monk, who explained the object of his mission.  He descanted upon the power of the Emperor Lotus, recounted his complaints, and warned the Briton, kindly and in a private capacity, of the danger of his situation, a danger so much the greater in that he and his people would meet with the less consideration, seeing that they kept up the religion of their Pagan forefathers.  Morvan gave attentive ear to this sermon, with his eyes fixed on the ground, and his foot tapping it from time to time.  Ditcar thought he had succeeded; but an incident supervened.  It was the hour when Morvan’s wife was accustomed to come and look for him ere they retired to the nuptial couch.  She appeared, eager to know who the stranger was, what he had come for, what he had said, what answer he had received.  She preluded her questions with oglings and caresses; she kissed the knees, the hands, the beard, and the face of the king, testifying her desire to be alone with him.  “O king and glory of the mighty Britons, dear spouse of mine, what tidings bringeth this stranger?  Is it peace, or is it war?” “This stranger,” answered Morvan with a smile, “is an envoy of the Franks; but bring he peace or bring he war, is the affair of men alone; as for thee, content thee with thy woman’s duties.”  Thereupon Ditcar, perceiving that he was countered, said to Morvan, “Sir king, ’tis time that I return; tell me what answer I am to take back to my sovereign.”  “Leave me this night to take thought thereon,” replied the Breton chief, with a wavering air.  When the morning came, Ditcar presented himself once more to Morvan, whom he found up, but still half-drunk, and full of very different sentiments from those of the night before.  It required some effort, stupefied and tottering as he was with the effects of wine and the pleasures of the night, to say to Ditcar, “Go back to thy king, and tell him from me that my land was never his, and that I owe him nought of tribute or submission.  Let him reign over the Franks; as for me, I reign over the Britons.  If he will bring war on me, he will find me ready to pay him back.”