His face, which was singularly attractive, was rather broad for its length and very finely shaped; it expressed wit, energy, and a great deal of humour. His eyes were dark brown, large, and powerful. His hair grew low on his brow, and was of a dull auburn, lacking in brightness and colour, but of great length and thickness. Luc, quick at reading men, could not read this one; he only knew that there were great possibilities in that face, and that the whole personality was not one to be ignored. His wonder at the hideous ceremony in the barn increased. The priest, with a heavy air of annoyance and displeasure, was unpacking a basket of provisions which stood on the table; Luc remembered seeing it behind his saddle the previous day. There were a round of beef, a couple of loaves, a small cheese, and a large pie in an earthenware dish, besides three bottles of wine. M. Armand produced knives, forks, and plates from the cupboard, and invited Luc to join them; his air was one of careless good-nature. But the Marquis could not eat; he ignored the priest, and addressed himself to M. Armand, who had seated himself on the corner of the table and was taking his supper with good appetite. “You spoke of M. de Voltaire,” he said. “Do you know him?” “Oh, every one in Paris knows him.” “But you know him?” insisted Luc. “Yes.” “And yet you, by the aid of a Christian priest, seek to raise the Devil!” exclaimed the Marquis. “I wanted to know something. The Devil should have entered into the heretic and answered my questions; but the fellow cheated. Faugh! Do not let us speak of it.” Luc fixed his eyes on the handsome, pleasant face. “What did you want to know?” he asked, with a smile. “Something about a woman.” Monsieur Armand cut himself a slice of pie. “I had that rascal fetched from Venice on purpose. The whim cost me something.” “I truly marvel at your folly,” said Luc calmly. “Oh, there _is_ a Devil,” returned the other, with a sideway glance, “and one might raise him, you know. But you have the fashionable tone of Paris.” “I have never been there save for a day in passing,” answered Luc simply. “And I speak from conviction, not fashion.” The priest, who had touched neither food nor wine, suddenly addressed Luc. “Where is your servant, Monsieur?” “In the next room--where should he be?” Luc turned from him coldly. “And now I will be on my way.” He rose, and the priest made an instantaneous movement to guard the door. “Take some supper,” said M. Armand. “And do not be in such a hurry.” Luc glanced from one to the other. “I will go on my way,” he said sternly. “Do you seek to detain me?” M. Armand was eating his pie leisurely; he looked at the priest reflectively. “You should have thought of the servant before,” he remarked. “I have promised not to speak, and I can answer for my servant,” answered Luc, guessing his thoughts.