and squabbling. Every witness who was called corroborated Anne
de Cornault's statement that there were no dogs at Kerfol: had
been none for several months. The master of the house had taken
a dislike to dogs, there was no denying it. But, on the other
hand, at the inquest, there had been long and bitter discussion
as to the nature of the dead man's wounds. One of the surgeons
called in had spoken of marks that looked like bites. The
suggestion of witchcraft was revived, and the opposing lawyers
hurled tomes of necromancy at each other.

At last Anne de Cornault was brought back into court--at the
instance of the same Judge--and asked if she knew where the dogs
she spoke of could have come from. On the body of her Redeemer
she swore that she did not. Then the Judge put his final
question: "If the dogs you think you heard had been known to you,
do you think you would have recognized them by their barking?"

"Yes."

"Did you recognize them?"

"Yes."

"What dogs do you take them to have been?"

"My dead dogs," she said in a whisper. . . She was taken out of
court, not to reappear there again. There was some kind of
ecclesiastical investigation, and the end of the business was
that the Judges disagreed with each other, and with the
ecclesiastical committee, and that Anne de Cornault was finally