fork of the thumb made a dimpled protuberance when closed; the

nails were perfectly shaped, and of a dead, surprising whiteness.
It rendered his aspect tenfold more redoubtable, that a man with

hands like these should keep them devoutly folded in his lap like a
virgin martyr - that a man with so intense and startling an

expression of face should sit patiently on his seat and contemplate
people with an unwinking stare, like a god, or a god's statue. His

quiescence seemed ironical and treacherous, it fitted so poorly
with his looks.

Such was Alain, Sire de Maletroit.
Denis and he looked silently at each other for a second or two.

"Pray step in," said the Sire de Maletroit. "I have been expecting
you all the evening."

He had not risen, but he accompanied his words with a smile and a
slight but courteousinclination of the head. Partly from the

smile, partly from the strange musical murmur with which the Sire
prefaced his observation, Denis felt a strong shudder of disgust go

through his marrow. And what with disgust and honest confusion of
mind, he could scarcely get words together in reply.

"I fear," he said, "that this is a double accident. I am not the
person you suppose me. It seems you were looking for a visit; but

for my part, nothing was further from my thoughts - nothing could
be more contrary to my wishes - than this intrusion."

"Well, well," replied the old gentleman indulgently, "here you are,
which is the main point. Seat yourself, my friend, and put

yourself entirely at your ease. We shall arrange our little
affairs presently."

Denis perceived that the matter was still complicated with some
misconception, and he hastened to continue his explanations.

"Your door . . . " he began.
"About my door?" asked the other, raising his peaked eyebrows. "A

little piece of ingenuity." And he shrugged his shoulders. "A
hospitable fancy! By your own account, you were not desirous of

making my acquaintance. We old people look for such reluctance now
and then; and when it touches our honour, we cast about until we

find some way of overcoming it. You arrive uninvited, but believe
me, very welcome."

"You persist in error, sir," said Denis. "There can be no question
between you and me. I am a stranger in this countryside. My name

is Denis, damoiseau de Beaulieu. If you see me in your house, it
is only - "

"My young friend," interrupted the other, "you will permit me to
have my own ideas on that subject. They probably differ from yours

at the present moment," he added with a leer, "but time will show
which of us is in the right."

Denis was convinced he had to do with a lunatic. He seated himself
with a shrug, content to wait the upshot; and a pause ensued,

during which he thought he could distinguish a hurried gabbling as
of prayer from behind the arras immediately opposite him.

Sometimes there seemed to be but one person engaged, sometimes two;
and the vehemence of the voice, low as it was, seemed to indicate

either great haste or an agony of spirit. It occurred to him that
this piece of tapestry covered the entrance to the chapel he had

noticed from without.
The old gentleman meanwhile surveyed Denis from head to foot with a

smile, and from time to time emitted little noises like a bird or a
mouse, which seemed to indicate a high degree of satisfaction.

This state of matters became rapidly insupportable; and Denis, to
put an end to it, remarked politely" target="_blank" title="ad.温和地；文雅地">politely that the wind had gone down.

The old gentleman fell into a fit of silent laughter, so prolonged
and violent that he became quite red in the face. Denis got upon

his feet at once, and put on his hat with a flourish.
"Sir," he said, "if you are in your wits, you have affronted me

grossly. If you are out of them, I flatter myself I can find
better employment for my brains than to talk with lunatics. My

conscience is clear; you have made a fool of me from the first
moment; you have refused to hear my explanations; and now there is

no power under God will make me stay here any longer; and if I
cannot make my way out in a more decent fashion, I will hack your

door in pieces with my sword."
The Sire de Maletroit raised his right hand and wagged it at Denis

with the fore and little fingers extended.
"My dear nephew," he said, "sit down."

"Nephew!" retorted Denis, "you lie in your throat;" and he snapped
his fingers in his face.

"Sit down, you rogue!" cried the old gentleman, in a sudden, harsh
voice, like the barking of a dog. "Do you fancy," he went on,

"that when I had made my little contrivance for the door I had
stopped short with that? If you prefer to be bound hand and foot

till your bones ache, rise and try to go away. If you choose to
remain a free young buck, agreeably conversing with an old

gentleman - why, sit where you are in peace, and God be with you."
"Do you mean I am a prisoner?" demanded Denis.

"I state the facts," replied the other. "I would rather leave the
conclusion to yourself."

Denis sat down again. Externally he managed to keep pretty calm;
but within, he was now boiling with anger, now chilled with

apprehension. He no longer felt convinced that he was dealing with
a madman. And if the old gentleman was sane, what, in God's name,

had he to look for? What absurd or tragical adventure had befallen
him? What countenance was he to assume?

While he was thus unpleasantly reflecting, the arras that overhung
the chapel door was raised, and a tall priest in his robes came

forth and, giving a long, keen stare at Denis, said something in an
undertone to Sire de Maletroit.

"She is in a better frame of spirit?" asked the latter.
"She is more resigned, messire," replied the priest.

"Now the Lord help her, she is hard to please!" sneered the old
gentleman. "A likely stripling - not ill-born - and of her own

choosing, too? Why, what more would the jade have?"
"The situation is not usual for a young damsel," said the other,

"and somewhat trying to her blushes."
"She should have thought of that before she began the dance. It

was none of my choosing, God knows that: but since she is in it,
by our Lady, she shall carry it to the end." And then addressing

Denis, "Monsieur de Beaulieu," he asked, "may I present you to my
niece? She has been waiting your arrival, I may say, with even

greater impatience than myself."
Denis had resigned himself with a good grace - all he desired was

to know the worst of it as speedily as possible; so he rose at
once, and bowed in acquiescence. The Sire de Maletroit followed

his example and limped, with the assistance of the chaplain's arm,
towards the chapel door. The priest pulled aside the arras, and

all three entered. The building had considerable architectural
pretensions. A light groining sprang from six stout columns, and

hung down in two rich pendants from the centre of the vault. The
place terminated behind the altar in a round end, embossed and

honeycombed with a superfluity of ornament in relief, and pierced
by many little windows shaped like stars, trefoils, or wheels.

These windows were imperfectly glazed, so that the night air
circulated freely in the chapel. The tapers, of which there must

have been half a hundred burning on the altar, were unmercifully
blown about; and the light went through many different phases of

brilliancy and semi-eclipse. On the steps in front of the altar
knelt a young girl richly attired as a bride. A chill settled over

Denis as he observed her costume; he fought with desperate energy
against the conclusion that was being thrust upon his mind; it

could not - it should not - be as he feared.
"Blanche," said the Sire, in his most flute-like tones, "I have

brought a friend to see you, my little girl; turn round and give
him your pretty hand. It is good to be devout; but it is necessary