The schoolmaster dropped wearily into the proffered seat and gazed at his host curiously. "Will you never grow up?" he demanded whimsically. Lamontaine shrugged his shoulders and returned the other's smile with a broad grin. "I hope not," he chuckled. "The devil of it, dominie, is that I've sipped the nectar from the cup of knowledge and now all that's left for me is the dregs. But come, my friend, what brings you, a sick man, out in the heat of the day? Have I not warned you repeatedly against it?" The little dominie smiled wanly. "Evelyn l'Brest was stricken today," he said finally. "She is like--the others...." There was silence for a moment. Lamontaine wagged his big head sagely; then he drew himself into his shell of professional reserve, for he knew that Noel Pelletier loved this slip of a girl who had been his pupil. "I have already seen her," he said finally. "There is nothing that you can do for her?" Again the physician was silent. Then he arose and took a short turn about the tiny room. Returning to his desk, he dropped back into his seat and, filling the tin cup from the rum-jug at his elbow, he downed the contents at a gulp. "I have told you before, my friend," he said finally, "that this is a case for a priest and not a physician." The schoolmaster crossed himself. "_Mon Dieu!_" he exclaimed. "Then you still insist?" Lamontaine nodded. "It is a question of exorcism, not physic," he growled. "All night and all this day, when I have had the opportunity, I have pored over my books. I am more convinced now than before. Listen, my friend." He leaned across the desk and tapped the jumble of books with his long fore-finger. "There is much knowledge in these," he said quietly, "knowledge that you men with religion in your souls will not admit. Black Magic? Certainly. You say that there is no such thing. I insist that it exists today just as it did in the beginning. True, the church has stamped it out to a large degree. But, nevertheless, there are many isolated cases--places far from the ken of men, such as here in La Foubelle--where it flourishes like the grass after a spring rain. Your people here are superstitious. They have given the devil fertile soil in which to plant his seeds." "Admitted! Admitted!" the little schoolmaster said excitedly. "Against such ignorance one man can do nothing; a dozen could not handle the situation efficiently. Yet----" Lamontaine held up a restraining hand. "Books such as these of mine tell of strange, weird things," he interrupted, "horrible things--things of which the average man never dreams. Our ancestors knew more about spirit life--the life beyond the veil--than we shall ever know. Why? Because they lived closer to it.