the man in
mourning who has used it before. A quarter of an hour after we get to
the cross-road, I will be here and wait for you."

"All right! Good-by till to-morrow, Chouette."

"I had nearly forgot to give the wax to Tortillard, if there is any lock
to get the print of at the farm. Here, chickabiddy, do you know how to
use it?" said the one-eyed wretch to Tortillard, as she gave him a piece
of wax.

"Yes, yes, my father showed me how to use it. I took for him the print
of the lock of the little iron chest which my master, the quack doctor,
keeps in his small closet."

"Ah, that's all right; and, that the wax may not stick, do not forget to
moisten the wax after you have warmed it well in your hand."

"I know all about it," replied Tortillard.

"To-morrow, them, _fourline_," said the Chouette.

"To-morrow," replied the Schoolmaster.

The Chouette went towards the coach. The Schoolmaster and Tortillard
quitted the hollow way, and bent their steps towards the farm, the
lights which shone from the windows serving to guide them on their way.

Strange fatality, which again brought Anselm Duresnel under the same
roof with his wife, who had not seen him since his condemnation to hard
labour for life!

CHAPTER VII.

AN EVENING AT THE FARM.

Perhaps a more gratifying sight does not exist than the interior of a
large farm-kitchen prepared for the evening meal, especially during the
winter season. Its bright wood fire, the long table covered with the
savoury, smoking dishes, the huge tankards of foaming beer or cider,
with the happy countenances scattered round, speak of peaceful labour
and healthful industry. The farm-kitchen of Bouqueval was a fine
exemplification of this remark. Its immense open chimney, about six feet
high and eight feet wide, resembled the yawning mouth of some huge oven.
On the hearth blazed and sparkled enormous logs of beech or oak; and
from this prodigious brazier there issued forth such a body of light, as
well as heat, that the large lamp suspended from the centre beam sunk
into insignificance, and was rendered nearly useless. Every variety of
culinary utensils, sparkling in all the brightness of the most elaborate
cleanliness, and composed invariably of copper, brass, and tin, glowed
in the bright radiance of the winter fire, as they stood ranged with the
utmost nicety and effect on their appropriate shelves. An old-fashioned
cistern of elaborately polished copper showed its br