Mme. Carhaix. "Come, Monsieur des Hermies, a little more salad?"

"No, thanks. But now we've come to the cheese, I think it's time to open
the wine," and he uncapped one of the bottles which Durtal had brought.

"It's a light Chinon wine, but not too weak. I discovered it in a little
shop down by the quay," said Durtal.

"I see," he went on after a silence, "that the tradition of unspeakable
crimes has been maintained by worthy successors of Gilles de Rais. I see
that in all centuries there have been fallen priests who have dared
commit sins against the Holy Ghost. But at the present time it all seems
incredible. Surely nobody is cutting children's throats as in the days
of Bluebeard and of abbé Guibourg."

"You mean that nobody is brought to justice for doing it. They don't
assassinate now, but they kill designated victims by methods unknown to
official science--ah, if the confessionals could speak!" cried the
bell-ringer.

"But tell me, what class of people are these modern covenanters with the
Devil?"

"Prelates, abbesses, mission superiors, confessors of communities; and
in Rome, the centre of present-day magic, they're the very highest
dignitaries," answered Des Hermies. "As for the laymen, they are
recruited from the wealthy class. That explains why these scandals are
hushed up if the police chance to discover them.

"Then, let us assume that the sacrifices to the Devil are not preceded