"Near Châlons," said Durtal, digging in his memory, "it does seem to me now that Des Hermies, speaking of bewitchment by the blood of white mice, pointed out that village as the habitation of certain diabolic circles."
"Yes, that country in all times has been a hotbed of Satanism."
"You are mighty well up on these matters. Is it Docre who transmitted this knowledge to you?"
"Yes, I owe him the little I am able to pass on to you. He took a fancy to me and even wanted to make me his pupil. I refused, and am glad now I did, for I am much more wary than I was then of being constantly in a state of mortal sin."
"Have you ever attended the Black Mass?"
"Yes. And I warn you in advance that you will regret having seen such terrible things. It is a memory that persists and horrifies, even—especially—when one does not personally take part in the offices."
He looked at her. She was pale, and her filmed eyes blinked rapidly.
"It's your own wish," she continued. "You will have no complaint if the spectacle terrifies you or wrings your heart."
He was almost dumbfounded to see how sad she was and with what difficulty she spoke.
"Really. This Docre, where did he come from, what did he do formerly, how did he happen to become a master Satanist?"