and by bounds and jumps precipitates himself into eternal damnation,
always following the infamous Garrigou (_vade retro, Satanas_), who
seconds him with marvellous skill; tucks up his chasuble, turns the
leaves two by two, disarranges the music-desk, reverses the flagons, and
unceasingly rings the bell more and more vigorously, more and more
quickly.

You should have seen what a figure all the assistants cut. Obliged to
follow, like mimics, a Mass of which they did not understand a word,
some rose when others kneeled, or seated themselves when others stood,
and all the actors in this singular office mixed themselves on the
benches in numberless contrary attitudes.

The star of Christmas, on its journey through the heavens yonder by the
little manger, paled with astonishment at the confusion.

"The Abbe's in a dreadful hurry: I can't follow him at all," said the
aged dowager, shaking her head-dress with bewilderment. Master Arnoton,
his great steel spectacles on his nose, searched in his prayer-book
where the deuce the words could be. But, after all, that gallant host,
which itself was thinking only of the feast, was far from being vexed
because the Mass rode post; and when Balaguère, with beaming
countenance, turned toward the assembly crying with all his might, _Ite
missa est_, with a single voice they returned, _Deo gratias_, so
joyously, so fervently, that one might have thought them already at
table responding to the first toast of the night.


III.