"He will not go, since Matheline told him to stay."
"My friend, my friend, to-night Sylvestre Ker will find the golden secret."
"To-night, my friend, my friend, he will win the heart of the one he loves."
And the invisible spirits, thus disputing, sported through the air, mounting, descending, whirling around like atoms of dust in a sunbeam, from the flag-stones of the floor to the rafters of the roof.
Inside the furnace, in the crucible, some other thing responded, but it could not be well heard, as the crucible had been hermetically sealed.
"Go out from here, you wicked crowd," cried Sylvestre Ker, sweeping around with a broom of holly branches. "What are you doing here? Go outside, cursed spirits, damned souls—go, go!"
From all the corners of the room came laughter; Matheline seemed everywhere. Suddenly there was profound silence, and the wind from the sea brought the sound of the bells of Plouharnel, ringing the second peal for the midnight Mass.
"My friend, what are they saying?"
"They say Christmas, my friend—Christmas, Christmas, Christmas!"
"Not at all! They say, Gold, gold, gold!"