5. The Monk. Calais

MY heart smote me the moment he shut the door-Psha! said I, with an air of carelessness, three several times-but it would not do: every ungracious syllable I had utter'd, crowded back into my imagination: I reflected, I had no right over the poor Franciscan, but to deny him; and that the punishment of that was enough to the disappointed, without the addition of unkind language: I consider'd his gray hairs-his courteous figure seem'd to reënter and gently ask me what injury he had done me?-and why I could use him thus?-I would have given twenty livres for an advocate.-I have behaved very ill, said I within myself; but I have only just set out upon my travels; and shall learn better manners as I get along.