“‘When he has done sweeping, tell me,’ said the sheikh.
“‘He has done,’ said the boy.
“The sorcerer turned to me and asked who it was that I wished the boy should see.
“‘I desire to see the widow Jeanne-Marie Porhoët.’
“The magician put the second and third of the small strips of paper into the chafing-dish, and fresh frankincense was added. The fumes were painful to my eyes. The boy began to speak.
“‘I see an old woman lying on a bed. She has a black dress, and on her head is a little white cap. She has a wrinkled face and her eyes are closed. There is a band tied round her chin. The bed is in a sort of hole, in the wall, and there are shutters to it.’
The boy was describing a Breton bed, and the white cap was the coiffe that my mother wore. And if she lay there in her black dress, with a band about her chin, I knew that it could mean but one thing.
“‘What else does he see?’ I asked the sorcerer.
“He repeated my question, and presently the boy spoke again.
“‘I see four men come in with a long box. And there are women crying. They all wear little white caps and black dresses. And I see a man in a white surplice, with a large cross in his hands, and a little boy in a long red gown. And the men take off their hats. And now everyone is kneeling down.’