s to the body and
its bearing such an expression of force. To leave a ball-room with
sufficient care to avoid a cold is an important affair to the health of
a woman; but let her have a passion in her heart, and her body becomes
adamant. Such an enterprise as Marie had now undertaken would have
floated in a bold man's mind for a long time; but Mademoiselle de
Verneuil had no sooner thought of it than its dangers became to her
attractions.

"You are starting without asking God to bless you," said Francine,
turning to look at the tower of Saint-Leonard.

The pious Breton stopped, clasped her hands, and said an "Ave" to Saint
Anne of Auray, imploring her to bless their expedition; during which
time her mistress waited pensively, looking first at the artless
attitude of her maid who was praying fervently, and then at the effects
of the vaporous moonlight as it glided among the traceries of the church
building, giving to the granite all the delicacy of filagree. The pair
soon reached the hut of Galope-Chopine. Light as their steps were they
roused one of those huge watch-dogs on whose fidelity the Bretons rely,
putting no fastening to their doors but a simple latch. The dog ran to
the strangers, and his bark became so threatening that they were forced
to retreat a few steps and call for help. But no one came. Mademoiselle
de Verneuil then gave the owl's cry, and instantly the rusty hinges
of the door made a creaking sound, and Galope-Chopine, who had risen
hastily, put out his head.

"I wish to go to Saint-James," said Marie, showing the Gars' glove.
"Monsieur le Comte de Bauvan told me that you would take me there and
protect me on the way. Therefore be good enough to get us two riding
donkeys, and make yourself ready to go with us. Time is precious, for
if we do not get to Saint-James before to-morrow night I can neither see
the ball nor the Gars."

Galope-Chopine, completely bewildered, took the glove and turned it over
and over, after lighting a pitch candle about a finger thick and
the color of gingerbread. This article of consumption, imported into
Brittany from the North, was only one more proof to the eyes in this
strange country of a utter ignorance of all commercial principles, even
the commonest. After seeing the green ribbon, staring at Mademoiselle
de Verneuil, scratching his ear, and drinking a beaker of cider (having
first offered a glass to the beautiful lady), Galope-Chopine left her
seated before the ta