ces toward the chimney, into the broad
corners of which the various cooking vessels had been moved to make way
for the _cacho-fio_; and the moment that the cup of benediction had
passed their lips they precipitated themselves upon the fire-place and
replaced the pots and pans for a final heating upon the coals.

The long table had been set before our arrival and was in perfect
readiness--covered with a fine white linen cloth, sacredly reserved for
use at high festivals, that fairly sparkled in the blaze of light cast
by the overhanging petroleum lamp. Yet the two ceremonial candles, one
at each end of the table, also were lighted; and were watched anxiously
as the supper went on: for should the wick of one of the Christmas
candles fall before the supper is ended, the person toward whom it
points in falling will pass from earth before the Christmas feast is set
again. But Mise Fougueiroun, to guard against this ominous catastrophe,
had played a trick on Fate by providing wax candles with wicks so fine
that they wasted away imperceptibly in their own flame.

Beside those fateless candles were the harvest harbingers, the plates on
which was growing Saint Barbara's grain--so vigorous and so freshly
green that old Jan rubbed his hands together comfortably as he said to
the Vidame: "Ah, we need have no fears for the harvest that is coming
in this blessed year!" In the centre of the table, its browned crust
slashed with a cross, was the great loaf of Christmas bread, _pan
Calendau_; on which was a bunch of holly tied with the white pith of
rushes--the "marrow" of the rush, that is held to be an emblem of
strength. Old Jan, the master of the house, cut the loaf into as many
portions as there were persons present; with one double-portion over to
be given to some poor one in charity--"the portion of the good God." It
is of a miraculous nature, this blessed bread: the sailors of Provence
carry morsels of it with them on their voyages, and by strewing its
crumbs upon the troubled waters stay the tempests of the sea.

For the rest, the table had down its middle a line of dishes--many of
them old faience of Moustiers, the mere sight of which would have
thrilled a collector's heart--heaped with the nougat and the other
sweets over the making of which our housekeeper and her lieutenants so
soulfully had toiled. And on the table in the corner were fruits and
nuts and wines.

Grace always is said before the Great Supper--a simple form