"That would be nonsense," said I, "like your burying the brass cylinder and scroll yesterday."
"It was not nonsense," said Le Bihan doggedly, "and I should prefer not to discuss the subject of the scroll."
I looked at Max Portin, who immediately avoided my eyes.
"You are a pair of superstitious old women," said I, digging my hands into my pockets; "you swallow every nursery tale that is invented."
"What of it?" said Le Bihan sulkily; "there's more truth than lies in most of 'em."
"Oh!" I sneered, "does the Mayor of St. Gildas and St. Julien believe in the loup-garou?"
"No, not in the loup-garou."
"In what, then—Jeanne-la-Flamme?"
"That," said Le Bihan with conviction, "is history."
"The devil it is!" said I; "and perhaps, Monsieur the mayor, your faith in giants is unimpaired?"