"You are late, Jean," said Madame Giroux, as the fisherman finally arrived at home. "You are very late, and I thought that you would never come. The river is dangerous in places. You remember Hypolite Picard, who was drowned last year. He could swim, too, but it is always the swimmers who take the risks. I wish that you would be more careful. Well, I am glad that you are safe at home. Sit down, now, and take some of this hot soup. I will cook a trout for you, if you like. You got some, of course." "But certainly, my mother," said Jean, opening his pannier, "look at these." "Truly you have a lot, about ten dozen, I should say. At Beauport we could get twenty cents a dozen for them, and at the Champlain market in Quebec at least five cents more. Two dollars’ worth of fish--not a bad day’s work. But what have you there, behind your backs? _Mon Dieu_! What is that? A salmon, a whale! What a monster! You are a fisherman indeed! How I wish that your father were here to see that trout! He caught one once about the same size, but I have never since seen its equal. That was when we first came to St. Placide, forty years ago. We were young then. But where did you get it? In some deep hole, no doubt." "Yes, my mother, in the _Trou du Sorcier_." "God guard us!" said Madame Giroux, crossing herself. "The _Trou du Sorcier_, the very place where your father caught that other fish. And the sorcerer himself, was he there, perhaps, as then?" "Yes, my mother, he was there. That is curious, is it not? But he is no sorcerer, only an old man, most obliging and interesting." "The devil is always interesting, Jean, and obliging too, for a time. But if this man is not a sorcerer he is a thief, certainly, and a miser. Besides, he never goes to Mass--has not made his Easter confession in forty years. If he should die suddenly Satan would surely take his soul. Jean, I am not superstitious, not at all, but I think that we should send the fish to the curé." Thus it happened that Father Paradis had a good dinner on the next day, which was Friday, and for several days thereafter the good curé and his housekeeper made their breakfast, dinner and supper of baked trout. *CHAPTER IV* *THE LOUP GAROU* "_Bon soir_, Jean Baptiste," said Mère Tabeau one evening, as the young man passed her home on his way to visit his friend Michel Gamache. "_Bon soir, Madame_," said Jean, politely, but not stopping, as he sometimes did, to gossip with the old woman. "Not so fast, Jean. Wait a minute. I have something to tell you. Come here." "Another time, Madame Tabeau, if you please. I must hasten this evening." "No time!" cackled the old crone in a shrill, querulous voice. "No time to talk to a poor old woman; no time for that, oh, no! But time enough for your friend the sorcerer, that servant of the devil."