The road is growing more frequented. We must be nearing Tours. Another mile or two and we come in sight of the towers of Saint-Gatien, and enter the old city of Saint-Martin to find it just the same as ever; the outside of the Cathedral still undergoing repairs; the streets still crowded and noisy; the dinner at the Hotel-du-Faisan still excellent; the rooms still clean and comfortable; the servants still obliging; the bill in the morning still a little more than we expected. How pleasant it is to be back in the dear old place, and feel the familiar Saints around one!
We had been into the dark Cathedral, where we had just been able to make out, lying together on their slab, the little white forms of the two children of Charles VIII. and Anne of Brittany. There, too, we had found Saint Gregory, the. historian, who told us once more the beautiful story of Saint Gatien, first missionary to this valley of the Loire. And, above all, in his deep dark crypt beneath the new Basilica, we had just been able to pay our respects to Saint Martin before the gates were closed for the night.