But, if this sweetened the smell to him, it was lost on the ladies,
and Thestylis was still to them a smoky old woman, frying,
marvelously, ill-odored sausages. Their host disappeared for a few
minutes, and then returned, no longer in dishabille, but in full
dress, as if going to the next town on some high festival. This was
evidently in honor of his guests. It was growing dark, and he now lit
a lantern hanging against the wall. Within the lantern, and behind the
lamp, a little image of some saint was seen shedding his benignant
influence over the household. The hastily prepared meal was now
ready. This was no time or place for nice distinctions of rank, and,
urged by their host, the whole party sat down together. Besides the
overpowering sausages, preserved fruits, honey, and black and white
bread covered the table, with a pile of oranges just gathered from the
boughs. These last vanished rapidly before the thirsty travelers.
Their host seemed to think his more substantial fare neglected; and
L'Isle took care to attribute it to their having dined too lately and
heartily, to have yet recovered their appetites.

Lady Mabel, seeing Moodie at the end of the table, with his back to
the dim light, eating almost in the dark, urged him to change his
seat, and take one opposite to and close under the lamp. Moodie looked
askance at the saint, who was bestowing a benediction on those before
him, and grumbled out, "Better to eat in the dark, than by the light
of Satan's lantern."

"You are over scrupulous," said Mrs. Shortridge: "if these illuminated
saints be one of Satan's devices, I think it meritorious to turn them
to a useful purpose, as was successfully done by a friend of mine
residing in Lisbon. Finding the lamp he had put before his door