those days, when eternal mercy was farmed by the Church, like a turnpike on the high road, and none could pass but such as paid toll. But, however, there it rose,--a tall white cross, standing, as that symbol should always stand, high above every surrounding object, and full in view of all who sought it. As the _aubergiste_ and his companion climbed the hill, which, leading from the village of Mesnil, commanded a full prospect of the rich woody valley below, and overhung that spot which, since the tragedy of poor Père Le Rouge, had acquired the name of the Sorcerer's Grove, it was this tall white cross that first caught their attention. It stood upon the opposite eminence, distinctly marked on the back-ground of the evening sky, catching every ray of light that remained, while behind it, pile upon pile, lay the thick clouds of a coming storm. "There, Monsieur," cried Gaultier, "there is the cross upon the Sorcerer's grave!" And the fear which agitated him while he spoke, made the stranger's lip curl into a smile of bitter contempt. But as they turned the side of the hill, which had hitherto concealed the castle itself from their sight, the teeth of Gaultier actually chattered in his head, when he beheld a bright light shining from several windows of the deserted building. "There!" exclaimed the stranger, "there, you see how well Père Le Rouge keeps his appointment. I am waited for, and want you no farther. I can now find my way alone. I would not expose you, my friend, to the dangers of that Grove." The innkeeper's heart melted at the stranger's words, and he was filled with compassionate zeal upon the occasion. "Pray don't go," cried Gaultier, almost blubbering betwixt fear and tender-heartedness; "pray don't go! Have pity upon your precious soul! You'll go to the Devil, indeed you will!--or at least to purgatory for a hundred thousand years, and be burnt up like an overdone rabbit. You are committing murder, and conspiracy, and treason,"--the stranger started, but Gaultier went on--"and heresy, and pleurisy, and sorcery, and you will go to the Devil, indeed you will--and then you'll remember what I told you." "What is fated, is fated!" replied the stranger, in a solemn voice, though Gaultier's speech had produced that sort of tremulous tone, excited by an inclination either to laugh or to cry. "I have promised, and I must go. But let me warn you," he continued, sternly, "never to mention one word of what has passed to-night, if you would live till I come again. For if you reveal one word, even to your wife, the ninth night after you have done so, Père Le Rouge will stand on one side of your bed, and I on the other, and Satan at your feet, and we will carry you away body and soul, so that you shall never be heard of again." When he had concluded, the stranger waited for no reply, but sprang upon his horse, and galloped down into the wood.