At length several ecclesiastics united at the parsonage, and consulted how they might be disembarrassed of the annoyance. One proposed one thing, another proposed another, and a third remarked that he had heard it said that those mysterious _shades_ feared the point of a sword. At the risk of a little superstition, they armed themselves with swords, and stabbed with them wherever the noises were heard. But it is difficult to hit an agent in constant and rapid motion, and they were about to desist, when one of them, having more skilfully pursued one of the noises than the others, all at once a flame flashed forth, followed by a smoke so dense that they were obliged to open all the windows to escape immediate suffocation. The smoke dissipated, and calm succeeding to so terrible an emotion, they resumed their stabbing, and soon they heard a groan; they continued, the groaning redoubled, and at length they distinctly heard pronounced the word “pardon.” “Pardon! yes, certainly, we will forgive you; and more than that, we will pass all the night in praying for you; but on condition that you come to-morrow, in person, and beg pardon of this boy.” “Will you forgive us all?” “How many are you?” “We are five, including the shepherd.” “We will forgive you all.” All then became quiet in the parsonage; and the rest of that terrible night was spent calmly in prayer. The next day, in the afternoon, Thorel presented himself at the parsonage. His attitude was humble, his language embarrassed, and he attempted to conceal with his hat certain bloody excoriations on his face. The boy, as soon as he perceived him, exclaimed, “That is the man, that is the man who has followed me this fortnight.” He pretended, when questioned, that he came to get a small organ for his master. “Not so, Thorel; you know it is not for that that you have come,” he was answered. “But whence those wounds on your face? who has given them?” “That is no business of yours; I will not tell.” “Tell us, then, what you want. Be frank. Have you not come to beg this boy’s pardon? Do it, then. Down on your knees.”