d in the field by the elfin people known as
_Sarregousets_, who are the same as the _Sins_.

At night, when it thunders, if you should happen to see men flying in
the lurid light of the clouds, or on the rolling waves of the air, these
are no other than the Sarregousets. A woman who lives at the Grand
Mielles knows them well. One evening, when some Sarregousets happened to
be assembled at a crossroad, this woman cried out to a man with a cart,
who did not know which route to take, "Ask them your way. They are civil
folks, and always ready to direct a stranger." There can be little doubt
that this woman was a sorceress.

The learned and judicious King James I. had women of this kind boiled,
and then tasting the water of the cauldron, was able to say from its
flavour, "That was a sorceress;" or "That was not one."

It is to be regretted that the kings of these latter days no longer
possess a talent which placed in so strong a light the utility of
monarchical institutions.

It was not without substantial grounds that Gilliatt lived in this odour
of sorcery. One midnight, during a storm, Gilliatt being at sea alone in
a bark, on the coast by La Sommeilleuse, he was heard to ask--

"Is there a passage sufficient for me?"

And a voice cried from the heights above:

"Passage enough: steer boldly."

To whom could he have been speaking, if not to those who replied to him?
This seems something like evidence.

Another time, one stormy evening, when it was so dark that nothing could
be distinguished, Gilliatt was near the Catiau Roque--a double row of
rocks where witches, goats, and other diabolical creatures assemble and
dance on Fridays--and here, it is firmly believed, that the voice of
Gilliatt was heard mingling in the following terrible conversation:--

"How is Vesin Brovard?" (This was a mason who had fallen from the roof
of a house.)

"He is getting better."

"Ver dia! he fell from a greater height than that of yonder peak. It is
delightful to think that he was not dashed to pieces."

"Our folks had a fine time for the seaweed gathering last week."

"Ay, finer than to-day."

"I believe you. There will be little fish at the market to-day."

"It blows too hard."

"They can't lower their nets."

"How is Catherine?"

"She is charming."

Catherine was evidently the name of a Sarregouset.

According to all appearance, Gilliatt had business on hand at night: at
least none doubted it.

Sometimes he was