ne, and nothing but Matheline, in adoration before Matheline.

"I have seen enough," said Sylvestre Ker.

"Then," replied Satan, "listen!" And immediately the sacred music
resounded in the ears of the young tenant of the tower as plainly as
though he was in the church of Plouharnel. They were singing the
Sanctus: "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts! The heavens and the earth
are full of Thy glory. Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is He that cometh
in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest!"

Dame Josserande repeated the words with the others, but the refrain of
her heart continued: "O Jesus, Infinite Goodness! may he be happy.
Deliver him from all evil, from all sin. I have only him to love....
Holy, holy, holy, give me all the suffering and keep for him all the
happiness!"

Can you believe it? Even while piously inhaling the perfume of this
celestial hymn, the young tenant wished to know what Matheline was
saying to God. Everything speaks to God,--the wild beasts in the forest,
the birds in the air, even the plants, whose roots are in the ground.

But miserable girls who sell the pearls of their smiles are lower than
the animals and vegetables. Nothing is beneath them,--Pol Bihan
excepted. Instead of speaking to God, Pol Bihan and Matheline whispered
together, and Sylvestre Ker heard them as distinctly as if he had been
between them.

"How much will the fool give?" asked Matheline.

"The idiot will give you all," replied Pol.

"And must I really squint with that one-eyed creature, and limp with the
lame wretch?"

Sylvestre Ker felt his heart die away within him.

Meanwhile, Josserande prayed earnestly for Sylvestre Ker.

"Never mind," continued Bihan; "it is worth while limping and squinting
for a time to win all the money in the world."

"That is true; but for how long?"

Sylvestre Ker held his breath to hear the better.

"As long as you please," answered Pol Bihan.

There was a pause, after which the gay Matheline resumed in a lower
tone,--

"But ... they say after a murder one can never laugh, and I wish to
laugh always...."

"Will I not be there?" replied Bihan. "Some time or other the idiot will
certainly seek a quarrel with me, and I will crack his bones by only
squeezing him in my arms; you can count upon my strength."

"I have heard enough," said Sylvestre Ker to Satan.

"And do you still love this Bihan?"

"No: I despise him."

"And Matheline,--do you love her yet?"

"Yes, oh