here else as here."

"Pooh! pooh! young man; one must accustom one's self to everything in
this world. We must learn--be always learning. Remember, for instance,
for I'll be bound that you never heard of such a thing before, that
worms taken in a burial-ground are the finest possible bait for barbel,
do you hear?--taken by moonlight from the roots of the hemlock."

"Good heavens! Pere Seguin, I would rather never catch a fish for the
rest of my days than touch one of those worms!"

"Nonsense, my lad--nonsense; they are admirable bait--fine fat
fellows--sure to take. We shall have a wonderful day to-morrow. You will
soon see how the giants and gourmands of the streams will snap at these
beauties."

"Hang the barbel, Pere Seguin!--let us leave this cold churchyard. I
feel sick, and a clammy cold creeping over me already--do let us be
gone;" but he would not move.

"Don't feel unwell, pray don't; it is a well-known fact, that any person
who feels ill in a churchyard is sure to die within the year."

"Let us leave then, for I do feel very ill;" but the purveyor of worms
was now too much occupied to listen to me.

Hopeless, therefore, of inducing him to leave till he had filled his
box, I sat down on a tombstone, and the noise he made with the spade in
the silence, the darkness, and the peculiar and sickening odour of the
place, filled me with an indescribable sense of fear and horror.

At length the poacher paused, and having disentangled a very long worm
from the twisted roots of a large clod, he said, "This makes one hundred
and thirteen--a holy number. Now I've done, my lad; let us be off."

"Yes--oh, yes!"--for the minutes seemed hours--"let us go instantly;"
and I sprang from the tombstone, while Pere Seguin proceeded
deliberately to fill up the holes, and replace the turf, whistling
through his moustache just as if he had been in the middle of his
garden.

"One hundred and thirteen!--I like that number."

"So do I, Pere Seguin; but do let us be going. If we remain here, they
will think that we have killed and buried some one. Do, pray, be off;"
and I made for the wall.

"Stop!" he said suddenly, drawing himself up to his full height, six
feet three, "Stop!" and throwing out his long arms, which made his
shadow on the stones resemble an immense black cross, "Hold there! Look!
Do you see that tomb--that large gray stone?"

"I see nothing, Pere Seguin, I will see nothing. I close my eyes, and
only desire