al between two sauces, to take a
little whiff of mass; and these bring the smell of the repast with
them into the church, which now is in high festival and warm from the
number of lighted tapers.

Is it the sight of their little white caps that so distracts the
celebrant? Is it not rather Garrigou's bell? that mad little bell
which is shaken at the altar foot with an infernal impetuosity that
seems all the time to be saying: "Come, let us make haste, make
haste.... The sooner we shall have finished, the sooner shall we be at
table." The fact is that every time this devil's bell tinkles the
chaplain forgets his mass, and thinks of nothing but the midnight
repast. He fancies he sees the cooks bustling about, the stoves
glowing with forge-like fires, the two magnificent turkeys, filled,
crammed, marbled with truffles....

Then again he sees, passing along, files of little pages carrying
dishes enveloped in tempting vapours, and with them he enters the
great hall now prepared for the feast. Oh delight! there is the
immense table all laden and luminous, peacocks adorned with their
feathers, pheasants spreading out their reddish-brown wings,
ruby-coloured decanters, pyramids of fruit glowing amid green boughs,
and those wonderful fish Garrigou (ah well, yes, Garrigou!) had
mentioned, laid on a couch of fennel, with their pearly scales
gleaming as if they had just come out of the water, and bunches of
sweet-smelling herbs in their monstrous snouts. So clear is the vision
of these marvels that it seems to Dom Balaguere that all these
wondrous dishes are served before him on the embroidered altar-cloth,
and two or three times instead of the _Dominus vobiscum_, he finds
himself saying the _Benedicite_. Except these slight mistakes, the
worthy man pronounces the service very conscientiously, without
skipping a line, without omitting a genuflexion; and all goes
tolerably well until the end of the first mass; for you know that on
Christmas Day the same officiating priest must celebrate three
consecutive masses.

"That's one done!" says the chaplain to himself with a sigh of
relief; then, without losing a moment, he motioned to his clerk, or to
him whom he supposed to be his clerk, and...

"Ting-a-ring ... Ting-a-ring, a-ring!"

Now the second mass is beginning, and with it begins also Dom
Balaguere's sin. "Quick, quick, let us make haste," Garrigou's bell
cries out to him in its shrill little voice, and this time the unhappy