The women echoed his deep sigh: and Perrin said quickly,
"Look here! I'm off to Les Brandons too! Then I can look after her! Don't wait up for me, mother."
"Very well. But, tell me, Jean. Will Le Mierre be there? Has she met him since his return from Jersey?"
"He will be there, for certain," broke in Perrin. "And, for certain, she has not see him yet. She told me so herself. Adi, then, toute la compagnie."
He swung along and was soon out of sight. The high road of Torteval was thronged with people who, for the most part, carried lanterns. He hurried past, not speaking to a soul. Presently he had reached his home, and, turning sharply round the corner of the little garden, he found himself in a lane which ended in a cart rut and brought him out to the moorland of Pleinmont and close to the Haunted House.
The sky was thick with stars, which flashed like silver bonfires in the blackness of the night. A fresh breeze swept over the gorze bushes of the moorland and blew into yellow and red streamers the sheet of flame that rose from a huge bonfire which was built in a direct line inland from the Haunted House. The sea, below the precipitous cliffs, moaned and sighed, and, far off, in the distance, could be heard the murmur of the deep seas. Shouts of laughter and merry voices, scraps of folk song and impromptu dancing, came from the throng of people scattered over the moorland and gathered round the bonfire.
Most of the girls of the company wore masks, rough, crude affairs, which, however, effectually concealed their faces. These masked girls were to take part in a special feature of Les Brandons, and were inspected curiously by the men present who were to be chosen as partners by these faux visages.
Perrin Corbet moved quietly, almost stealthily, about amongst the people, evidently intent on finding some particular person. All at once he stopped close to the huge bonfire, and stared, with knitted brows, at Dominic Le Mierre, who swaggered in and out amongst the girls, tapping one on the cheek, chucking another under the chin, and pulling the long curls of a young creature in her teens. In the fitful and flickering light, the master of Orvillière looked like a sea-king, so stalwart, so wicked, so magnetic. It was quite plain to Perrin Corbet that he was more than a little the worse for drink; and he watched him closely, and followed him as near as he dared without being observed.