believe in the Old Scratch pretty literally. This legend was
of the time when he came to Lisieux. The people knew he was coming
because a wise woman had said that he was on the way, and
predicted that he would arrive at the time of the great fair.
Everybody was in great distress, because they knew that whoever
looked at him would become bewitched, but, of course, they had to
go to the fair. The wise woman was able to give them a little
comfort; she said some one was coming with the devil, and that the
people must not notice the devil, but keep their eyes fastened on
this other--then they would be free of the fiend's influence. But,
when the devil arrived at the fair, nobody even looked to see who
his companion was, for the devil was so picturesque, so vivid, all
in flaming scarlet and orange, and he capered and danced and sang
so that nobody could help looking at him--and, after looking once,
they couldn't look away until they were thoroughly under his
spell. So they were all bewitched, and began to scream and howl
and roll on the ground, and turn on each other and brawl, and
`commit all manner of excesses.' Then the wise woman was able to
exorcise the devil, and he sank into the ground; but his companion
stayed, and the people came to their senses, and looked, and they
saw that it was an angel. The angel had been there all the time
that the fiend was, of course. So they have a saying now, that
there may be angels with us, but we don't notice them when the
devil's about."

She did not look at her son as she finished, and she had hurried
through the latter part of her "legend" with increasing timidity.
The parallel was more severe, now that she put it to him, than she
intended; it sounded savage; and she feared she had overshot her
mark. Laura, of course, was the other, the companion; she had been
actually a companion for the vivid sister, everywhere with her at
the fair, and never considered: now she emerged from her
overshadowed obscurity, and people were able to see her as an
individual--heretofore she had been merely the retinue of a
flaming Cora. But the "legend" was not very gallant to Cora!

Mrs. Lindley knew that it hurt her son; she felt it without
looking at him, and before he gave a sign. As it was, he did not
speak, but, after a few moments, rose and went quietly out of the
room: then she heard the front door open and close. She sat by his
fire a long, long time and was sorry--and wondered.

When Richar