torches and the fires of the kitchens. There was the click of the
turnspits, the crash of stewpans, the noises of glass and silver
preparing for the dinner. From below, a warm vapor, which smelt of
roasting meat and the strong herbs of curious sauces, whispered to the
farmers, to the chaplain, to the bailiff--to all the world:

"What a revel we are going to have after Mass!"


II.

Drelindin din! Drelindin din! Midnight Mass is about to begin. In the
chapel of the château, a miniature cathedral with arches intercrossed
and a wainscot of oak mounting as high as the walls, all the hangings
have been arranged, all the candles lit.

And what a host of people! And what toilettes! First, seated in the
sculptured stall which surrounds the choir, behold the Sire de
Trinquelague in a suit of salmon-colored taffeta; and next to him all
the invited nobles. Facing these, on a prie-dieu trimmed with velvet, is
the old dowager Marquise in her robe of fire-colored brocade, and the
young Dame de Trinquelague, surmounted by a huge head-dress of lace,
made in the latest fashion of the French court. Further down, dressed in
black, with vast pointed perukes and shaven faces, are the bailiff,
Thomas Arnoton, and the notary, Master Ambroy, two grave objects among
the flowing silks and figured damasks. Then come the fat majordomos,
the pages, the grooms, the attendants; dame Barbe, all her keys
suspended at her side on a ring of thin silver. At the bottom of the
hall, on the benches, are the Servants, the yeomen with their families;
and lastly, beyond, all about the doors as they open and shut