nd a cane-backed settle of twisted walnut over against the wall. An
alabaster lamp on the table made an island of light in that place of
gloom, and within the circle of its feeble rays stood a gross old man of
some seventy years of age in sacerdotal garments of unusual design: the
white alb worn over a greasy cassock was studded with black fir-cones;
the stole and maniple were of black satin, with fir-cones wrought in
yellow thread.

His inflamed countenance was of a revolting hideousness: his cheeks were
covered by a network of blue veins, his eyes squinted horribly, his lips
vanished inwards over toothless gums, and a fringe of white hair hung
in matted wisps from his high, bald crown. This was the infamous
Abbe Guibourg, sacristan of Saint Denis, an ordained priest who had
consecrated himself to the service of the Devil.

He received the great lady with a low bow which, despite herself, she
acknowledged by a shudder. She was very pale, and her eyes were dilating
and preternaturally bright. Fear began to possess her, yet she suffered
herself to be ushered into the chapel, which was dimly illumined by a
couple of candles standing beside a basin on a table. The altar light
had been extinguished. Her maid would have hung back, but that she
feared to be parted from her mistress. She passed in with her in the
wake of Guibourg, and followed by La Voisin, who closed the door,
leaving her daughter in the ante-room.

Although she had never been a participant in any of the sorceries
practised by her mother, yet Marguerite was fully aware of their extent,
and more than guessed what horrors were taking place beyond the closed
doors of the chapel. The very thought of them filled her with loathing
and disgust as she sat waiting, huddled in a corner of the settle. And
yet when presently through the closed doors came the drone of the voice
of that unclean celebrant, to blend with the whine of the wind in the
chimney, Marguerite, urged by a morbid curiosity she could not conquer,
crept shuddering to the door, which directly faced the altar, and going
down on her knees applied her eye to the keyhole.

What she saw may very well have appalled her considering the exalted
station of Madame de Montespan. She beheld the white, sculptural form of
the royal favourite lying at full length supine upon the altar, her arms
outstretched, holding a lighted candle in each hand. Immediately before
her stood the Abbe Guibourg, his body screening th