“‘I see a man sweeping the ground,’ he said.
“‘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 him 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.”
“‘I will hear no more,’ I said. ‘It is enough.’
