"Do not dare to come to work to-morrow!" she cried aloud; "for you will never work for us again. I discharge you; do you understand?" She understood but too well. It was as though she had just heard her death-sentence. There was no house but ours where she could find work as a seamstress, and to discharge her was like condemning her to starvation. My mother's voice was heard again, low, but full of gentle firmness. "To-morrow Marion's work will be taken to her at her own house." "I will not be the one to take it," cried Aunt Gabrielle, whose words produced a murmur of approbation. "Then I will take it myself," said my mother, "if I can find no one to obey me." Marion had disappeared. There were only a few women left; their cheeks were aglow with anger. The resin candles had been put out. The room was lighted by the Yule log only, which blazed in the fireplace. "Let us go and pray God," said my mother, slipping her arm through that of Gabrielle, who protested and submitted at the same time, and kissed my mother fully ten times before we reached the church. The church was dazzling, for the simple reason that as there was no way of lighting it, no lamps of any description, every faithful was requested to bring a light with him. There were surely a thousand persons in the building, which represented a thousand lights. I will confess that these were neither lamps nor tapers nor even vulgar tallow candles. They were mere wax lighters, which singly you may despise as you please, but which, multiplied thus, formed a luminous floor under the dark vault: when you looked down, it was joyous, dazzling; and when you looked up, it was appalling. The altar fairly glittered. All of our candles figured there in addition to those which belonged to the church. There was just room enough between the lights for the chalice and the missal. The rector was arrayed in a fine scarlet chasuble, a bit worn and faded, which had survived the Revolution. The mayor occupied the seat of honor, wearing the dress of the Breton peasant,--blue vest embroidered in red and yellow silk, with a splendid sun in the middle of the back. Beside him sat the deputy mayor, M. Adelys, the miller of Kerdroguen; and both wore white silk sashes which covered their breasts and stomachs. The blacksmith was there too in his quality of justice's clerk, wearing the black gown and cap of the magistracy. M. de la Goublaye, the justice and chevalier of Saint Louis, had been detained in his château of Keriennec by the gout. But we had a corporal of gendarmery opposite the altar and two gendarmes on either side with yellow shoulder-belts. Plumelec, where they lived, would have gladly enough kept them at home on such an occasion, but St. Jean Brévelay was the chief town of the canton. At the appearance of the celebrant the corporal cried out,--