public opinion, had held out against the
little weakness. It would be more profitable,
as it was such a cool, fresh evening, to go
forth and stroll leisurely towards the village,
scarcely a mile away. So I sauntered forth
at an easy pace from beneath the archway.

It was very grateful that evening walk
down to the village, lying along all manner
of green lanes and shady places. There was
a kind of short cut through the fields
—pointed out by an obliging peasant—which
led across rustic bridges and through a little
wood, very tempting and retired. There was
the village church, too, just after getting
clear of the wood: an ancient structure, and
very grey and mossy, with the door standing
open. I looked in and found M. le curé at
the high altar steps instructing his little
band ot children for first communion or other
great act. A gentle, patient man looked M.
le curé, as he stood within his altar-rails,
and very innocent and eager seemed his little
following. I waited afar off—just under the
porch—for many minutes, listening, looking
round, too, at the pretty decoration of the
church,—garnished plentifully with white
rose-wreaths, perhaps for some high festival
coming on.

It was long past ten o'clock when I
found myself at the door of the old Yellow
Tiger. That establishment was now about
sinking into its night's repose; lights beginning
to twinkle here and there at strange
windows. M. Le BÅ“uf and all his company
had long since departed, and as I entered, a
man was coming down the steps with a huge
bunch of keys to fasten up all securely for
the night. The day's work was done, and it
was time for all Christians to be in their
rooms. So I took the lamp and made straight
for the little alcove chamber where I was to
repose; leaving, as is best to do in strange
places, the light burning upon the table.

When I awoke again, it must have been a
couple of hours past midnight, and I found
that my lamp must have just gone out. For
there was a column of thick black smoke
curling upwards from it to the ceiling. The
night was miserably warm and uncomfortable,
and I foresaw that there was at least an
hour or two of wretched tossing in store for
me. To which prospect I at once resigned
myself, and waited calmly for the tumult, to
begin.

Though the lamp had gone out, there was
still abundance of light pouring into the
room through the glass-door and its thin
muslin blind. For, the moon was up and
made every corner of my little room as light
as day. From the alcove where I lay—just
facing the door—I could be pretty sure that
the court-yard was steeped in a broad sheet
of white light. So, too, must have been the i
gallery running round (this was my little
speculation, striving to keep away the hour
of torment), and its many sleepers, now fast
bound in their slumbers. Just then the
little clock set to chiming out three, so that
I had gone tolerably near the hour. As
I was thinking what musical bells were
to be found occasionally in these
out-of-the-way villages, it suddenly struck me
that there was a creaking sound outside
in the gallery, as of a light footstep. The
night was so very still that there could be no
doubt of it. There was a creaking sound in
the gallery. At the same instant, Hercule,
the great white hound, always chained up of
nights in the porch, gave forth a long
melancholy howl. Whereupon the sounds ceased
suddenly.

By and by they commenced again, coming
nearer this time and mystifying me exceedingly,
when suddenly, having my eyes fixed
upon the door, a tall shadow seemed to flit
swiftly across the door—a man's shadow, too.
What could this mean? Who could be
moving about in this secret fashion? Perhaps
a watchman, kept by madame to look
after the safety of their premises; perhaps
a stranger with some unlawful purpose. I
got up hastily and went over to the door to
look out. There was no sign of any person
being there; the gallery was perfectly
deserted. The court below was—exactly as
I had been figuring it—flooded with moonlight.
There were also those fantastic shadows
shooting out from the foot of the
pillars, and underneath the gallery deep
cavernous recesses, steeped in shade and
mystery. Hercule was still at his mournful
song, and something must have troubled his
slumbers. Still, as I said, there was no sign
of any living creature; so, after a little
further contemplation of the tranquil scene,
I shut the door gently, taking care to secure
it from within, and went back to the alcove.

The diligence passed by at six o'clock next
morning and was to call at the great gate to
take me up. It seemed to me, that I had
but just turned round to sleep, when a hoarse
voice came through the glass-door, calling to
me and rattling it impatiently.

"What do you want?" I said sleepily.

"The diligence, M'sieu! it is coming over
the hill. M'sieu will have to hasten
himself."

I jumped up hastily and was in my clothes
in an instant. Madame, with delicate
forethought, had a little cup of coffee ready
(the great diligence would halt for breakfast
some two or three hours later), which I had
finished just as the jangling music of the
great diligence made itself heard at the door.
As I was following out M. Le BÅ“uf, who
had my luggage on his shoulder, a piercing
scream rang out, so sharp and full of anguish
that all who were there turned and rushed
back into the court. There was M. Lemoine's
mother out upon the gallery in a light dressing
gown, leaning over the rail, tossing her
arms wildly about. There, too, was madame
our hostess, struggling hard with the golden-
haired young girl at the door of M. Lemoine's