cholastique closely
followed him.

Master Zacharius, as if guided by an irresistible hand, seemed
sure of his way, and strode along with rapid step. He reached an
old worm-eaten door, which fell before his blows, whilst the bats
described oblique circles around his head.

An immense hall, better preserved than the rest, was soon
reached. High sculptured panels, on which serpents, ghouls, and
other strange figures seemed to disport themselves confusedly,
covered its walls. Several long and narrow windows, like
loopholes, shivered beneath the bursts of the tempest.

Master Zacharius, on reaching the middle of this hall, uttered a
cry of joy.

On an iron support, fastened to the wall, stood the clock in
which now resided his entire life. This unequalled masterpiece
represented an ancient Roman church, with buttresses of wrought
iron, with its heavy bell-tower, where there was a complete chime
for the anthem of the day, the "Angelus," the mass, vespers,
compline, and the benediction. Above the church door, which
opened at the hour of the services, was placed a "rose," in the
centre of which two hands moved, and the archivault of which
reproduced the twelve hours of the face sculptured in relief.
Between the door and the rose, just as Scholastique had said, a
maxim, relative to the employment of every moment of the day,
appeared on a copper plate. Master Zacharius had once regulated
this succession of devices with a really Christian solicitude;
the hours of prayer, of work, of repast, of recreation, and of
repose, followed each other according to the religious discipline,
and were to infallibly insure salvation to him who scrupulously
observed their commands.

Master Zacharius, intoxicated with joy, went forward to take
possession of the clock, when a frightful roar of laughter
resounded behind him.

He turned, and by the light of a smoky lamp recognized the little
old man of Geneva.

"You here?" cried he.

Gerande was afraid. She drew closer to Aubert.

"Good-day, Master Zacharius," said the monster.

"Who are you?"

"Signor Pittonaccio, at your service! You have come to give me
your daughter! You have remembered my words, 'Gerande will not
wed Aubert.'"

The young apprentice rushed upon Pittonaccio, who escaped from
him like a shadow.

"Stop, Aubert!" cried Master Zacharius.

"Good-night," said Pittonaccio, and he disappeared.

"My father, let us fly from this hateful place!" cried Gerande.
"My fat