"I know this place!" exclaimed Annabel. "It is where the Saint-Michels
used to live before they went to my father's settlement at Le Rayville.
Look at the house! Nobody lives there. It must be full of witches."

Violin music testified that the witches were merry. We halted, and the
horses neighed and were answered by others of their kind.

"George Croghan's grandmother was struck by a witch ball. And here her
grandson stands, too tired to run. But perhaps there aren't any witches
in the house. I don't believe wicked things would be allowed to enter
it. The Saint-Michels were so pious, and ugly, and resigned to the
poverty of refugees. Their society was so good for me, my mother, when
she was alive, made me venerate them until I hated them. Holy Sophie
died and went to heaven. I shall never see her again. She was, indeed,
excellent. This can't be a nest of witches. George, why don't you go and
knock on the door?"

It was not necessary, for the door opened and a man appeared, holding
his violin by the neck. He stepped out to look around the cabin at some
horses fastened there, and saw and hailed us.

I was not sorry to be allowed to enter, for I was tired to exhaustion,
and sat down on the floor away from the fire. The man looked at me
suspiciously, though he was ruddy and good natured. But he bent quite
over before De Chaumont's daughter, and made a flourish with his hand
in receiving young Croghan. There were in the cabin with him two women
and two little girls; and a Canadian servant like a fat brown bear came
from the rear of the house to look at us and then went back to the
horses.