that just above where the glasses stood on the shelf
a crucifix was hanging, and that red crystal sparkled in the hands and
feet where the nails should be driven in. There was a painful humour in
the association. He smiled, then turned his head away, for old memories
flashed through his brain--he had been an acolyte once; he had served at
the altar.

Suddenly Dubarre rose, took the glasses from the shelf and placed them
in the middle of the table--the death's head for the feast.

As they sat down to eat, the eyes of both men unconsciously wandered
to the crucifix, attracted by the red sparkle of the rubies. They drank
water with the well-cooked meat of the wapiti, though red wine faced
them on the table. Each ate heartily; as though a long day were before
them and not the shadow of the Long Night. There was no speech save that
of the usual courtesies of the table. The fire, and the wind, and the
watch seemed the only living things besides themselves, perched there
between heaven and earth.

At length the meal was finished, and the two turned in their chairs
towards the fire. There was no other light in the room, and on the faces
of the two, still and cold, the flame played idly.

"When?" said Dubarre at last. "Not yet," was the quiet reply.

"I was thinking of my first theft--an apple from my brother's plate,"
said Dubarre, with a dry smile. "You?"

"I, of my first lie."

"That apple was the sweetest fruit I ever tasted."

"And I took the penalty of the lie, but I had no sorrow."

Again there was silence.

"Now?" asked Villiard, after an hour had passed. "I am ready."

They came to the table.

"Shall we bind our eyes?" asked Dubarre. "I do not know the glasses that
hold the poison."

"Nor I the bottle that held it. I will turn my back, and do you change
about the glasses."

Villiard turned his face towards the timepiece on the wall. As he did so
it began to strike--a clear, silvery chime: "One! two! three--!"

Before it had finished striking both men were facing the glasses again.

"Take one," said Dubarre.

Villiard took the one nearest himself. Dubarre took one also. Without a
word they lifted the glasses and drank.

"Again," said Dubarre.

"You choose," responded Villiard.

Dubarre lifted the one nearest himself, and Villiard picked up the
other. Raising their glasses again, they bowed to each other and drank.

The watch struck twelve, and stopped its silvery chiming.

They both sat down,