These persons who sat or sprawled upon the benches did not speak to one another. They appeared to be waiting. One or two of them were seemingly asleep; others, from time to time, would rouse themselves from their apathy, look with dim, inquiring eyes in the direction of a heavy portière which hung in front of a door near the far end of the room, and would strain their ears to listen. This occurred every time that a cry, or a moan, or a sob came from behind the portière. When this subsided again all those in the bare waiting-room resumed their patient, lethargic attitude, and a silence--weird and absolute--reigned once more over them all. Now and then somebody would sigh, and at one time one of the sleepers snored. Far away a church clock struck six. §2 A few minutes later, the portière was lifted, and a girl came into the room. She held a shawl, very much the worse for wear, tightly wrapped around her meagre shoulders, and from beneath her rough woollen skirt her small feet appeared clad in well-worn shoes and darned worsted stockings. Her hair, which was fair and soft, was partially hidden under a white muslin cap, and as she walked with a brisk step across the room, she looked neither to right nor left, appeared to move as in a dream. And her large grey eyes were brimming over with tears. Neither her rapid passage across the room nor her exit through a door immediately opposite the window created the slightest stir amongst those who were waiting. Only one of the men, a huge, ungainly giant, whose long limbs appeared to stretch half-across the bare wooden floor, looked up lazily as she passed. After the girl had gone, silence once more fell on the small assembly. Not a sound came from behind the portière; but from beyond the other door the faint patter of the girl's feet could be heard gradually fading away as she went slowly down the stone stairs. A few more minutes went by, then the door behind the portière was opened and a cadaverous voice spoke the word, "Enter!" There was a faint stir among those who waited. A woman rose from her seat, said dully: "My turn, I think?" and, gliding across the room like some bodiless spectre, she presently vanished behind the portière. "Are you going to the Fraternal Supper to-night, citizen Langlois?" the giant said, after the woman had gone. His tone was rasping and harsh and his voice came with a wheeze and an obviously painful effort from his broad, doubled-up chest. "Not I!" Langlois replied. "I must speak with Mother Théot. My wife made me promise. She is too ill to come herself, and the poor unfortunate believes in the Théot's incantations." "Come out and get some fresh air, then," the other rejoined. "It is stifling in here!"