The Marquis, roused by his servant, woke to see the man standing in misty moonlight by the square of window; with a languid distaste at being called from sleep Luc rose.

“Monsigneur,” said the servant in a low voice, “there are those two, the foreigner and the priest, and a third with them just gone into the barn.”

He pointed to a building close to the house, from the large doorway of which came a great blaze of light, strong and fitful, as if caused by a bonfire.

The reflection of it trembled over the rough floor of the room, and it was this that had aroused the servant to look from the window, when he had, he declared, seen three men carrying lanterns cross the yard and enter the barn; he swore to two being the Italian and the priest.

Luc considered; his curiosity was certainly roused and a sense of distrust also. The barn was so lonely, the two strangers so peculiar in appearance—and he recalled how the Italian had called after him, “Are you going to Avignon to-night?” as if he wished to be sure that he would be out of their way.

“What can it be?” he murmured to himself, and he thought of coining.

The light from the barn was increasing in intensity as he watched it, and presently began to take on an artificial red tinge that lit up windows and door with a lurid glow.

“I think they practise fireworks,” smiled Luc. He put on his hat, took up his sword, and quietly stepped out into the dreary farm-yard, followed by his servant.

The first objects that he beheld were three horses fastened to the stump of an elder tree: two, those ridden by the travellers he had met yesterday; the third, a black horse of great beauty. Keeping in the shadows of the house, and avoiding the long trails of flickering light, Luc and the servant gained the barn and crouched against the wall of it, endeavouring to find some aperture. Voices raised loudly and angrily came from within, among them the tones of the Italian speaking in his own language with great vehemence.

At length Luc found a considerable hole in the loose and rotting beams that composed the walls of the barn and, looking through, saw an extraordinary scene.

In the centre of the building stood an iron brazier, which held a large fire of vivid leaping flame; round this was drawn a chalk circle marked with various figures and symbols, and beyond that a ring of dead frogs and snakes.

Behind the brazier stood the Italian attired in a sweeping black robe and a scarlet skullcap; he held in one hand a long white wand and in the other a closed parchment-covered book.

Beside him stood the priest regarding him with an expression of impatience and vexation. The exceeding brightness of the flames threw over the features of both a glow of red, and gave even their dark garments something of the colour of blood.

A third man was facing these two. He was standing quite close to Luc; he had his hands behind his back, and wore a long tabinet riding-cloak; his slight figure, scarcely of the medium height, was of a remarkable grace; his hair was clubbed and unpowdered. Luc could only see his profile, which was sensitive, attractive, and high bred.

This last man was manifestly a noble, which caused Luc some surprise. He was gazing at him with curiosity when the priest suddenly moved and disclosed a fourth occupant of the barn. Luc gave a long shudder of horror and moved back from the hole.

It was the dead body of the heretic peasant woman, sitting upright in a rude chair with the rope still round her swollen throat and the harsh flare over her disfigured face, dropping jaw, and staring eyes.

“What is it, Monseigneur?” asked the servant eagerly.

“Have your pistols ready,” answered Luc in a stern whisper, “and get to some vantage where you can see what is going on within.”

The man obeyed, creeping away through the mingled moonlight and firelight until he found another notch in the wood of the wall.

Luc again looked into the barn. The priest had now thrown on some powder that filled the whole building with smoke, the Italian was shouting short sentences in an uncouth language, and the third man had sprung forward and was staring at the corpse through the soft film of the bluish smoke.

“She does not speak!” he cried. “She does not speak!”

The priest gave a furious exclamation and cast something dark and heavy into the flames, and the Italian tore a chain from his neck and flung it in the lap of the dead woman. A towering red and orange flame, that seemed as if it would set the roof on fire, suddenly shot up from the brazier, an unearthly and awful voice called out—

“Beware of she who comes from Bohemia!”

This was cut short by a passionate ejaculation; who it came from Luc could not tell. All three men seemed to run together; the brazier was overturned, and there was perfect darkness, broken by a shriek, a groan, several short cries of fury, and the rip of unsheathing swords. Luc ran round to the doorless opening that was the main entrance to the barn; as he reached it a man came rushing out with a weapon in his hand, bare in the moonlight. Luc seized him and flung the sword away. The servant had come up now and stood ready with his pistol.

“Explain yourself,” demanded the Marquis.

The other, completely taken by surprise, wrenched himself free, but made no attempt to escape.

“Are you the Devil?” he asked, with more eagerness than fear.

“No,” answered Luc in brief disgust.

Before he could say more the priest came out of the barn carrying a lantern.

“What is this foul mummery?” asked Luc sternly. “I shall speak to the Governor.”

Seeing his companion in the power of a stranger, the priest gave a cry and made as if he would fly into the night.

But the other turned on him fiercely.

“By God, you are wanted here!” he cried, and the priest came back instantly.

“This is a creditable affair for one of your cloth to be involved in,” said Luc.

The priest ignored the comment, but his companion remarked with a great degree of haughtiness—

“I suppose I have been disarmed by a gentleman?”

“Oh yes,” answered Luc quietly. “Take up your sword.”

The stranger turned and looked for it by the aid of the priest’s lantern.

“Where is the Italian?” asked Luc.

“Escaped,” returned the other carelessly, slipping his weapon into the scabbard.

“The rascal ran out by the back way,” added the priest.

“He hath left his horse,” remarked Luc, glancing at the three beasts.

“Being far too frightened to think of it,” was the answer, and the stranger, with a sudden show of pleasantness, came up to the Marquis and laid his hand on his shoulder.

“Come, my dear fellow,” he said, “do not look so grave. We have been endeavouring to raise the Devil and have made a failure of it, that is all.”

“A stale game,” said Luc scornfully. “And you were profaning the dead, Monsieur.”

“A peasant! A heretic!” cried the other, with an instant return of haughtiness. “And who are you to call me to account?” At this the priest touched him on the arm, and he added in a quiet tone, “You are scarcely a spy, Monsieur.”

“No,” said Luc wearily. His anger had changed into mere disgust. “No—you know you were doing an illegal thing, a foolish thing, and a horrible thing; but I am no judge of your actions. I will forget you, Monsieur. Only I ask you to give that poor creature decent burial.”

He was turning away when the other caught him by the sleeve.

“Who are you?” he asked curiously. “I should like to know you. You speak like M. de Voltaire.”

Luc had instantly resolved not to give his name.

“I am a private citizen of Provence,” he answered, “and I have business in Avignon. The rain is over and I have had some rest, also I do not care to remain here, so I will now ride on to the town.”

He made a grave bow and was turning away when the other again detained him.

“You cannot ride to Avignon till it is light. Come with me—my name is Armand, Monsieur Armand—I do not ask yours.”

“And I have not yours,” answered Luc.

The other laughed.

“Armand for to-night—and I swear it is my christened name. There is supper in the house—I give you an invitation.”

The priest seemed impatient to be gone and annoyed at this conversation, but Luc, despite his distaste of the whole thing, was interested in the stranger, in his very shamelessness, in his peculiar, gentle address, in his mention of M. de Voltaire. He felt curious to see this man’s person, for they stood now in the shadow of the barn, and the priest kept his lantern turned carefully away.

“Monsieur,” answered Luc, “at present I should not know you again; if we go into the house I shall see your face.”

“I trust you,” answered M. Armand. He beckoned to the priest, and the three entered the farm and the room next to that where the Marquis had slept, and where his horse still stood. Luc found that it was in good repair and rudely furnished, as if frequently used.

A deal table occupied the middle, and when the lantern was set on this it showed several chairs, a cupboard, a plain couch with a coverlet, and a stout box or chest with brass locks. M. Armand ordered the priest to light candles; they were taken from the cupboard and placed on the table in iron holders. The room was now in bright light, and Luc and the stranger instantly looked at each other with calm curiosity.

The Marquis beheld a man still young, but not so young as he had at first believed, dressed in a dark grey riding-suit without ornament or jewel, wearing high boots and a plain sword with a basket shell.

His face, which was singularly attractive, was rather broad for its length and very finely shaped; it expressed wit, energy, and a great deal of humour. His eyes were dark brown, large, and powerful. His hair grew low on his brow, and was of a dull auburn, lacking in brightness and colour, but of great length and thickness.

Luc, quick at reading men, could not read this one; he only knew that there were great possibilities in that face, and that the whole personality was not one to be ignored. His wonder at the hideous ceremony in the barn increased.

The priest, with a heavy air of annoyance and displeasure, was unpacking a basket of provisions which stood on the table; Luc remembered seeing it behind his saddle the previous day.

There were a round of beef, a couple of loaves, a small cheese, and a large pie in an earthenware dish, besides three bottles of wine. M. Armand produced knives, forks, and plates from the cupboard, and invited Luc to join them; his air was one of careless good-nature.

But the Marquis could not eat; he ignored the priest, and addressed himself to M. Armand, who had seated himself on the corner of the table and was taking his supper with good appetite.

“You spoke of M. de Voltaire,” he said. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, every one in Paris knows him.”

“But you know him?” insisted Luc.

“Yes.”

“And yet you, by the aid of a Christian priest, seek to raise the Devil!” exclaimed the Marquis.

“I wanted to know something. The Devil should have entered into the heretic and answered my questions; but the fellow cheated. Faugh! Do not let us speak of it.”

Luc fixed his eyes on the handsome, pleasant face.

“What did you want to know?” he asked, with a smile.

“Something about a woman.” Monsieur Armand cut himself a slice of pie. “I had that rascal fetched from Venice on purpose. The whim cost me something.”

“I truly marvel at your folly,” said Luc calmly.

“Oh, there is a Devil,” returned the other, with a sideway glance, “and one might raise him, you know. But you have the fashionable tone of Paris.”

“I have never been there save for a day in passing,” answered Luc simply. “And I speak from conviction, not fashion.”

The priest, who had touched neither food nor wine, suddenly addressed Luc.

“Where is your servant, Monsieur?”

“In the next room—where should he be?” Luc turned from him coldly. “And now I will be on my way.”

He rose, and the priest made an instantaneous movement to guard the door.

“Take some supper,” said M. Armand. “And do not be in such a hurry.”

Luc glanced from one to the other.

“I will go on my way,” he said sternly. “Do you seek to detain me?”

M. Armand was eating his pie leisurely; he looked at the priest reflectively.

“You should have thought of the servant before,” he remarked.

“I have promised not to speak, and I can answer for my servant,” answered Luc, guessing his thoughts.

“Do you think I am afraid?” asked the other, languidly raising his bent brows. “We are not very likely to meet again,” he added.

“No,” assented the Marquis. “You interest me, though. I think your priest here would like to kill me. I wish you joy of your holy companion.”

“If I had my way, you would not leave here alive,” said the priest, in a low, calm voice. “You are an atheist and a blasphemer, and a menace to Holy Church.”

“And to your safety, Father,” smiled M. Armand. “But go, Monsieur. You are a noble.”

Luc bowed.

“I will see the heretic is buried,” added M. Armand, “though she would not speak. Adieu. I am sorry you would not have any supper.”

“Adieu,” returned Luc gravely. The priest moved from the door, and he stepped out; the last glimpse he had of M. Armand was the picture of him seated on the table finishing his pie.

On reaching the yard he found the priest had followed him, and was standing a few paces off watching his movements. He called his servant, and the man came round the corner of the farm leading the two horses.

“Where have you been this while?” demanded the priest.

The fellow answered respectfully that he had been making the animals ready.

Luc mounted and was turning out of the yard when the priest came to his stirrup.

“Swear to me on the Gospels, on the Cross, that you will be silent about what you have seen to-night,” he said, in a low voice.

“You heard my word,” answered Luc coldly. “And I have told you I believe in neither Cross nor Gospels. Stand away—your habit smells rank to me.”

The priest stepped softly back; the servant mounted, and the two rode away.

They had gone perhaps half a league before the Marquis recollected that he still did not know the road to Avignon; in his haste to be rid of his companions he had never thought of this.

Instantly checking his horse, he looked back at his servant.

The dawn was breaking, and the man’s face appeared of a strange pallor.

“We do not know the way,” said Luc.

“Any way, Monseigneur,” answered the servant, “as long as we do not go back.”

“What is the matter?” asked Luc sharply, for the fellow was plainly in a fright.

“Monseigneur, I did not mean to tell you. I thought we should both be murdered.”

“I thought that possible too,” replied the Marquis calmly. “Anything else?”

“Oh, Monseigneur—there was murder. I went back to the barn to fetch my hat. I had the little lantern—and I could not forbear looking in; and there was the foreigner lying dead from a sword-thrust.”