him with more confidence as he crossed the great court. There
were frogs in a rainwater tank constructed many years ago, when some
enterprising foe had been known to cut off the water-supply of a
besieged chateau, and their friendly croak brought a sense of company
and comfort to the Abbe's timid soul.

The door of the Italian house stood open, for the interior had never
been completed, and only one apartment, a lofty banqueting-hall, had
ever been furnished. Within the doorway, the Abbe fumbled in the pocket
of his soutane and rattled a box of matches. He carried a parcel in his
hand, which he now unfolded, and laid out on the lid of a mouldy chest
half a dozen candles. When he struck a match a flight of bats whirred
out of the doorway, and the Abbe's breath whistled through his teeth.

He lighted two candles, and carrying them, alight, in one hand--not
without dexterity, for candles played an important part in his life--he
went forward. The flickering light showed his face to be a fat one,
kind enough, gleaming now with perspiration and fear, but shiny at other
times with that Christian tolerance which makes men kind to their own
failings. It was very dark within the house, for all the shutters were
closed.

The Abbe lighted a third candle and fixed it, with a drop of its own
wax, on the high mantel of the great banqueting-hall. There were four or
five candlesticks on side-tables, and a candelabra stood in the centre
of a long table, running the length of the room. In a few minutes the
Abbe had illuminated the apartment, which smelt of dust and the days of
a dead monarchy. Above his head, the bats were describing complicated
figures against a ceiling which had once been painted in the Italian
style, to represent a trellis roof, with roses and vines entwined.
Half a dozen portraits of men, in armour and wigs, looked down from the
walls. One or two of them were rotting from their frames, and dangled a
despondent corner out into the room.

There were chairs round the table, set as if for a phantom banquet
amid these mouldering environments, and their high carved backs threw
fantastic shadows on the wall.

While the Abbe was still employed with the candles, he heard a heavy
step and loud breathing in the hall without, where he had carefully left
a light.

"Why did you not wait for me on the hill, malhonnete?" asked a thick
voice, like the voice of a man, but the manner was the manner of
a woman. "I am sure you must