ones.

Many of the watchers had never seen a man-wolf, and there reigned in the
crowd, scattered in invisible groups, a fever of curiosity, terror, and
impatience; the minutes lengthened as they passed, and it seemed as
though midnight, stopped on the way, would never come.

There were at that time no clocks in the neighborhood to mark the hour,
but the matin-bell of the convent of Ruiz gave notice that the
wished-for moment had arrived.

While waiting there was busy conversation: they spoke of the man-wolf,
of phantoms, and also of betrothals, for the rumor was spread that the
bans of Matheline du Coat-Dor, the promised bride of Sylvestre Ker, with
the strong Pol Bihan, who had never found a rival in the
wrestling-field, would be published on the following Sunday; and I leave
you to imagine how Matheline's laughter ran in pearly cascades when
congratulated on her approaching marriage.

By the road which led up to the tower a shadow slowly descended; it was
not the wolf, but a poor woman in mourning, whose head was bent upon her
breast, and who held in her hand an object that shone like a mirror, and
the brilliant surface of which reflected the moonbeams.

"It is Josserande Ker!" was whispered around the circle, behind the
rocks, in the brambles, and under the stumps of the oaks.

"'Tis the widow of the armed keeper of the great door!"

"'Tis the mother of the wolf, Sylvestre Ker!"

"She also has come to see...."

"But what has she in her hand?"

Twenty voices asked the question. Matheline, who had good eyes, and such
beautiful ones, replied,--

"It looks like an axe.... Happy am I to be rid of those two, the mother
and son! With them I could never laugh."

But there were two or three good souls who said in low tones,--

"Poor widow! her heart must be full of sorrow."

"But what does she want with that axe?"

"It is to defend her wolf," again replied Matheline, who carried a
pitchfork.

Pol Bihan held an enormous hollow stick which resembled a club. Every
one was armed either with threshing-flails or rakes or hoes; some even
bore scythes, carried upright; for they had not only come to look on,
but to make an end of the man-wolf.

Again was heard the chime of the matin-bells of the convent of Ruiz, and
immediately a smothered cry ran from group to group,--

"Wolf! wolf! wolf!"

Josserande heard it, for she paused in her descent and cast an anxious
look around; but, seeing no one, she raised her ey