n Health_, by Tissot. A French noble, an emigre, who had
retired to St. Sampson, remarked that this Tissot, "must have been the
Tissot who carried the head of the Princess de Lamballe upon a pike."

The Reverend gentleman had also remarked upon one of these books, the
highly fantastic and terribly significant title, _De Rhubarbaro_.

In justice to Gilliatt, however, it must be added that this volume being
in Latin--a language which it is doubtful if he understood--the young
man had possibly never read it.

But it is just those books which a man possesses, but does not read,
which constitute the most suspicious evidence against him. The Spanish
Inquisition have deliberated on that point, and have come to a
conclusion which places the matter beyond further doubt.

The book in question, however, was no other than the treatise of Doctor
Tilingius upon the rhubarb plant, published in Germany in 1679.

It was by no means certain that Gilliatt did not prepare philters and
unholy decoctions. He was undoubtedly in possession of certain phials.

Why did he walk abroad at evening, and sometimes even at midnight, on
the cliffs? Evidently to hold converse with the evil spirits who, by
night, frequent the seashores, enveloped in smoke.

On one occasion he had aided a witch at Torteval to clean her chaise:
this was an old woman named Moutonne Gahy.

When a census was taken in the island, in answer to a question about his
calling, he replied, "Fisherman; when there are fish to catch." Imagine
yourself in the place of Gilliatt's neighbours, and admit that there is
something unpleasant in answers like this.

Poverty and wealth are comparative terms. Gilliatt had some fields and a
house, his own property; compared with those who had nothing, he was not
poor. One day, to test this, and perhaps, also as a step towards a
correspondence--for there are base women who would marry a demon for the
sake of riches--a young girl of the neighbourhood said to Gilliatt,
"When are you going to take a wife, neighbour?" He answered, "I will
take a wife when the Roque qui Chante takes a husband."

This Roque qui Chante is a great stone, standing in a field near Mons.
Lemezurier de Fry's. It is a stone of a highly suspicious character. No
one knows what deeds are done around it. At times you may hear there a
cock crowing, when no cock is near--an extremely disagreeable
circumstance. Then it is commonly asserted that this stone was
originally place