* What the Germans call the wehr-wolf, a creature compounded of brute and human. "I do not think the curé looks much like a wolf," I ventured to say; for I had been rather taken with the old man's ways. "He is too fat. Wolves are always thin, and they howl and snarl." "Ah, mademoiselle! But remember the loup-garou can take any forum or any voice he pleases," said the old man. "Is there really a loop-garou?" asked David. "I thought it was only an idle tale." "An idle tale indeed! What is the world coming to? Did not my grandfather know one—a man who used to turn himself into a wolf and scour the country at night, followed by his pack, and devouring all in his way, but especially women and children. They caught him at last, and he was burned at Sartilly, protesting his innocence all the time." "Perhaps he was innocent," said David. "Thou shouldst not answer thy grandfather, David," said his mother mildly; "that is rude." "No, no; he meant no harm," said the old man. "Let it pass. You women are always finding fault with a boy. But as to the loup-garou. However, we will tell no more tales to scare mademoiselle. It is well, at all events, to remember that the good Lord is above all. But it was good snuff the poor priest had." I inwardly resolved that I would try to procure some snuff for the old man, and that I would bribe him with it to tell me more tales of the loup-garou, about which I was very curious. I knew there was no use in asking Mother Jeanne, for she never would tell me frightful stories. Indeed, the Reformed were not nearly as much under the influence of superstition as their neighbors of the other faith. To the last, every corner had its goblins. In this dell, the "Washers" were to be seen by the unwary night traveller, and he who acceded to their courteous request to assist them in wringing a garment, had his own heart's blood wrung out, and became a pale spectre himself. If he escaped these ghostly laundresses, there were the dancers on the field above, who were equally dangerous, and another female demon who allured young men into lonely places and there murdered and devoured them. Our country neighbors here in Cornwall are bad enough, with their piskies, and fairies, and wish-hounds, and what not, but they are not so bad as the people in Normandy and Brittany.