"Not all the time?"
"No, monsieur, not all the time?"
"Of course not."
Gaspard experienced with us all this paradox: that the older we grow, the more visible becomes the unseen. In childhood the external senses are sharp; but maturity fuses flesh and spirit. He wished for a priest, desiring to feel the arm of the Church around him. It was late October,—a time which might be called the yearly Sabbath of loups-garous.
"And what must a loup-garou do with himself?" pursued Sainte-Hélène. "I should take to the woods, and sit and lick my chaps, and bless my hide that I was for the time no longer a man."
"Saints! monsieur, he goes on a chase. He runs with his tongue lolled out, and his eyes red as blood."
"What color are my eyes, Gaspard?"
The old Frenchman sputtered, "Monsieur, they are very black."
Sainte-Hélène drew his hand across them.
"It must be your firelight that is so red. I have been seeing as through a glass of claret ever since I came in."