“Took a what?” asked Abby.

“A don’t, what you call.  Round, wiz a hole to put your finger!” explained Marie.  “Only in America they make zem.  Not of such things in Bretagne, never.  Coco took the don’t, and Le Boss catch him, and look at him again, so!  Well, yes! in two hour he is sick, that boy, and after zat for a week.  A-a-a-h! yes, Le Boss! only at me he not dare to look, for I have the charm, and he know that, and he is afraid.  Aha, yes, he is afraid of Marie too, when he wish to make devil work.

“And here,” she cried, turning suddenly upon Abby, “you say you have no such thing, Abiroc,”—­this was the name she had given her hostess,—­“and here, too, is the evil eye, first what I see in this place, except the dear little children.  A man yesterday came while I played, and looked—­but, frightful!  Ah!” she started from her seat by the window, and retreated hastily to the corner.  “He comes, the same man!  Put me away, Abiroc! put me away!  He is bad, he is wicked!  I die if he look at me!” and she ran hastily out of the room, just as Jacques De Arthenay entered it.

CHAPTER V.

Courtship.

Marie could hardly be persuaded to come back into the sitting-room; and when she did at length come, it was only to sit silent in the corner, with one hand held behind her, and her eyes fixed steadfastly on the floor.  In vain Abby Rock tried to draw her into the conversation, telling her how she, Abby, and Mr. De Arthenay had been talking about her, and how they thought she’d better stay right on where she was for a spell, till she was all rested up, and knew what she wanted to do.  Mr. De Arthenay would be a friend to her, and no one could be a better one, as she’d find.  But Marie only said that Monsieur was very kind, and never raised her eyes to his.  De Arthenay, on his part, was no more at ease.  He could not take his eyes from the slender figure, so shrinking and modest, or the lovely downcast face.  He had no words to tell her all that was in his heart, nor would he have told it if he could.  It was still a thing of horror to him,—­a thing that would surely be cast out as soon as he came to himself; and how better could he bring himself to his senses than by facing this dream, this possession of the night, and crushing it down, putting it out of existence?  So he sat still, and gazed at the dream, and felt its reality in every fibre of his being; and poor good Abby sat and talked for all three, and wondered what to goodness was coming of all this.

She wondered more and more as the days went on.  It became evident to her that De Arthenay, her stern, silent neighbour, who had never so much as looked at a woman before, was “possessed” about her little guest.  Marie, on the other hand, continued to regard him with terror, and never failed to make the horns secretly when he appeared; yet day after day he came, and sat silent in the sitting-room,