the bells of
Plouharnel, and they also said to him: "Too late."

VII.

As the sound of the bells died away, the last drop of water fell from
the clepsydra and marked the hour of midnight. Then the furnace opened
and showed the glowing crucible, which burst with a terrible noise, and
threw out a gigantic flame that reached the sky through the torn roof.
Sylvestre Ker, enveloped by the fire, fell prostrate on the ground,
suffocated in the burning smoke.

The silence of death followed. Suddenly an awful voice said to him:
"Arise." And he arose.

On the spot where had stood the furnace, of which not a vestige
remained, was standing a man, or rather a colossus; and Sylvestre Ker
needed but a glance to recognize in him the demon. His body appeared to
be of iron, red-hot and transparent; for in his veins could be seen the
liquid gold, flowing into, and then retreating from, his heart, black as
an extinguished coal.

The creature, who was both fearful and beautiful to behold, extended his
hand towards the side of the tower nearest the sea, and in the thick
wall a large breach was made.

"Look!" said Satan.

Sylvestre Ker obeyed. He saw, as though distance were annihilated, the
interior of the humble church of Plouharnel where the faithful We
assembled. The officiating priest had just ascended the altar, brilliant
with the Christmas candles, and there was great pomp and splendor; for
the many monks of Gildas the Wise were assisting the poor clergy of the
parish.

In a corner, under the shadow of a column knelt Dame Josserande in
fervent prayer, but often did the dear woman turn towards the door to
watch for the coming of her son.

Not far from her was Matheline du Coat-Dor, bravely attired and very
beautiful, but lavishing the pearls of her smiles upon all who sought
them, forgetting no one but God; and, close to Matheline, Pol Bihan
squared his broad shoulders. Then, even as Satan had given to Sylvestre
Ker's sight the power of piercing the walls, so did he permit him to
look into the depth of hearts. In his mother's heart he saw himself as
in a mirror. It was full of him. Good Josserande prayed for him; she
prayed to Jesus, whose feast is Christmas, in the pious prayer which
fell from her lips; and ever and ever said her heart to God: "My son, my
son, my son!"

In the heart of Pol, Sylvestre Ker saw pride of strength and gross
cupidity; in the spot where should have been the heart of Matheline, he
saw Matheli