The military routine of the fortress continued that day as usual, and the approach of night brought no suspicion of the forthcoming assault. The absence of La Salle was alone commented upon, yet without apprehension, for the priest was notoriously lax in the performance of his ecclesiastical duties, and only Laroche was seriously troubled in mind for his brother priest. Roussilac indeed breathed more freely when La Salle was not present in the fortress. At eventide two little bells rang out, that to the east of the citadel being the bell of the chapel of Ste. Anne, presided over by the junior priest, St Agapit, that to the west the bell of Ste. Mary Bonsecours upon the hill. Here Laroche, in the absence of La Salle, officiated to recite vespers and hear confessions. Laroche, though a fighting bully lacking in every priestly quality, was, among the soldiers at least, more popular than St Agapit. The latter was a scholar, a man too learned, and somewhat too honest, for his age, an ascetic, and a priest in every sense. It was well known that he looked with a stern eye upon drunken brawls or vengeful threats, whereas Laroche, himself a brawler when in his cups, judged such offences leniently. St Agapit had no ambition, apart from the faithful performance of his duty, the carrying out of which rarely brought him into even remote contact with either of his colleagues. It was good to feel the cool breath of the evening after the heat and burden of the afternoon. The little stone church of Ste. Mary upon the brow of the hill darkened, and an aged crone passed into the sanctuary to light the strong-smelling lamps. Laroche entered to recite vespers, and rolled away to divest his great body of cope and alb; but as he appeared again within the church his eyes fell upon some half-dozen men, who waited to obtain an easier conscience by confession of their sins. "A plague on ye," the priest grumbled as he stumbled into his box. "Why are ye all such miserable sinners? Ha! is it you that I see, Michel Ferraud? What sin now, you rogue?" The keeper of the cabaret in the Rue des Pêcheurs fell straightway upon his knees, and began to whimper: "The former wickedness. I am driven to the act, my father. Wine is scarce, as your holiness knows, and great is the demand therefor. I must eke out the supply against the coming of each ship, and it has ever been but a little aqua puralis added to each keg; but to-day, father, the devil jogged my elbow, and that which is blended cannot be separated. The wine remains a rich colour, holy father, as you shall see, and none shall know----" "Vile and shameless sinner that you are," the priest interrupted. "To dilute a wine which is already too thin to gladden the heart of man and make him a cheerful countenance--to do so, I say, is to commit a most deadly sin."