"Ha! then our /mouche/ will be lively to-night. Last evening we were
only four."

At the word /mouche/ the rector rose and took from a drawer in one of
the tall chests a small round basket made of fine osier, a pile of
ivory counters yellow as a Turkish pipe after twenty years' usage, and
a pack of cards as greasy as those of the custom-house officers at
Saint-Nazaire, who change them only once in two weeks. These the abbe
brought to the table, arranging the proper number of counters before
each player, and putting the basket in the centre of the table beside
the lamp, with infantine eagerness, and the manner of a man accustomed
to perform this little service.

A knock at the outer gate given firmly in military fashion echoed
through the stillness of the ancient mansion. Mademoiselle de
Pen-Hoel's page went gravely to open the door, and presently the long,
lean, methodically-clothed person of the Chevalier du Halga, former
flag-captain to Admiral de Kergarouet, defined itself in black on the
penumbra of the portico.

"Welcome, chevalier!" cried Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel.

"The altar is raised," said the abbe.

The chevalier was a man in poor health, who wore flannel for his
rheumatism, a black-silk skull-cap to protect his head from fog, and a
spencer to guard his precious chest from the sudden gusts which
freshen the atmosphere of Guerande. He always went armed with a
gold-headed cane to drive away the dogs who paid untimely court to a