In another minute he was out and dressing.

Five minutes later he was on his way to the parish church.
When he reached it he took a tool from his pocket and unscrewed a small iron cross from the front door.

It was a cross which had been blessed by the Pope, and had been brought to Chaudiere by the beloved mother of the Cure, now dead.
"When I have done with it I will put it back," he said, as he thrust it inside his shirt, and hurried stealthily back to his house.

As he got into bed he gave a noiseless, mirthless laugh.

All night he lay with his yellow eyes wide open, gazing at the ceiling.