'_Introibo ad altare Dei_.'

'_Ad Deum qui loetificat juventutem meam_,' gabbled Vincent, who,
squatting on his heels, mumbled the responses of the antiphon and the
psalm, while watching La Teuse as she roved about the church.

The old servant was gazing at one of the candles with a troubled look.
Her anxiety seemed to increase while the priest, bowing down with hands
joined again, recited the _Confiteor_. She stood still, in her turn
struck her breast, her head bowed, but still keeping a watchful eye on
the taper. For another minute the priest's grave voice and the server's
stammers alternated:

'_Dominus vobiscum_.'

'_Et cum spiritu tuo_.'

Then the priest, spreading out his hands and afterwards again joining
them, said with devout compunction: '_Oremus_' (Let us pray).

La Teuse could now stand it no longer, but stepped behind the altar,
reached the guttering candle, and trimmed it with the points of her
scissors. Two large blobs of wax had already been wasted. When she came
back again putting the benches straight on her way, and making sure that
there was holy-water in the fonts, the priest, whose hands were resting
on the edge of the altar-cloth, was praying in subdued tones. And at
last he kissed the altar.

Behind him, the little church still looked wan in the pale light of
early morn. The sun, as yet, was only level with the tiled roof. The