Apparently the driver was accustomed to such scenes, for after a
glance through his little window he took no further notice. So it went
on until at last he pulled up and shouted:

"/Voyageurs pour Kleindorf, descendez. Vite, s'il vous plait./"

"Here we do get down, young Monsieur," said the Pasteur, suddenly
relapsing into a kind of unnatural calm. Indeed, at the door he turned
and bowed politely to his adversary, wishing him /bon voyage/, to
which the priest replied with a solemn benediction in the most
Catholic form.

"He is not bad of heart, that priest," said the Pasteur, as he led the
way to the gate of a little shrubbery, "but he do try to steal my
sheep, and I protect them from him, the blood-toothed wolf. Jean,
Jean!"

A brawny Swiss appeared and seized the baggage. Then they advanced
across the belt of shrubbery to a lawn, through which ran a path. Lo!
in the centre of that lawn grew such a fruit-tree, covered with large
cherries or small plums, as Godfrey had described to Miss Ogilvy, and
beyond it stood the long white house, old, and big, and peaceful
looking. What he had not described, because of them his subliminal
sense had given him no inkling, were the two ladies, who sat expectant
on the verandah, that commanded a beautiful view of the lake and the
mountains beyond.

By a kind of instinct distilled from his experience of clergymen's
belongings, Godfrey had expected to see a dowdy female, with a red,
fat face, and watery eyes, perhaps wearing an apron and a black dress