The servant took their solitary lamp in her hand, went to the door. She presently returned, ushering into the room Father Francis, a priest who lived in the city. He was a man of about fifty years old, whose hollow cheeks, sharp features, and piercing eyes wore a sinister and far from hallowed expression.
"To what, father, am I indebted for this late visit?" asked the old lady.
"To important tidings," replied the priest, "which I am come to communicate."
"Leave us, Bridget," said her mistress. The servant took an old iron lamp, and went upstairs to her fireless chamber.
"What have you to tell me?" asked Marie Marianni of her visitor.
"I have had news from France."
"Good news?"
"Some which may eventually prove so."
"The stars, then, have not deceived me!"
"What, madam!" said the priest, in a reproving tone; "do you attach any credit to this lying astrology? Believe me, it is a temptation of Satan which you ought to resist. Have you not enough of real misfortune without subjecting yourself to imaginary terrors?"