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.
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