radition of Christmas being white with snow. On the summit of the
hill, as the goal towards which all were wending, gleamed the chateau,
with its enormous mass of towers and gables, and its chapel steeple
rising into the blue-black sky. A multitude of little lights were
twinkling, coming, going, and moving about at all the windows; they
looked like the sparks one sees running about in the ashes of burnt
paper.

After you had passed the drawbridge and the postern gate, it was
necessary, in order to reach the chapel, to cross the first court,
which was full of carriages, footmen and sedan chairs, and was quite
illuminated by the blaze of torches and the glare of the kitchen
fires. Here were heard the click of turnspits, the rattle of
sauce-pans, the clash of glasses and silver plate in the commotion
attending the preparation of the feast; while over all rose a warm
vapour smelling pleasantly of roast meat, piquant herbs, and complex
sauces, and which seemed to say to the farmers, as well as to the
chaplain and to the bailiff, and to everybody:

"What a good midnight repast we are going to have after the mass!"

II

Ting-a-ring!--a--ring!

The midnight mass is beginning in the chapel of the chateau, which is
a cathedral in miniature, with groined and vaulted roofs, oak
wood-work as high as the walls, expanded draperies, and tapers all
aglow. And what a lot of people! What grand dresses! First of all,
seated in the carved stalls that line the choir, is the Lord of
Trinquelague in a coat of salmon-coloured silk, and about him are
ranged all the noble lords who have been invited.

On the opposite side, on velvet-covered praying-stools, the old
dowager marchioness in flame-coloured brocade, and the youthful Lady
of Trinquelague wearing a lofty head-dress of plaited lace in the
newest fashion of the French court, have taken their places. Lower
down, dressed in black, with punctilious wigs, and shaven faces, like
two grave notes among the gay silks and the figured damasks, are seen
the bailiff, Thomas Arnoton, and the notary Master Ambroy. Then come
the stout major-domos, the pages, the horsemen, the stewards, Dame
Barbara, with all her keys hanging at her side on a real silver ring.
At the end, on the forms, are the lower class, the female servants,
the cotter farmers and their families; and lastly, down there, near
the door, which they open and shut very carefully, are messieurs the
scullions, who enter in the interv