A priest dressed in his full vestments led them through the snow, while behind him a man carried a silver crucifix on a tall pole. Once at the chateau the small crowd split into two, some walking on towards the bridge which led into the gate-tower while the others followed the priest around to the rear of the farm. "Stay here, " Lorcet ordered the man who had been on guard. "Sergeant! Follow me." The two men went back to the kitchen and stared through a window at the priest, who was arranging his followers on the far side of the bridge. "What are they doing?" Lorcet asked. "God knows,»

Challon said. He was still holding Sharpe's rifle, but what was he to do?

Shoot the priest? "Are they going to sing?" the lawyer asked incredulously, for the priest had turned to his flock, raised his hands, and now brought them down. And so the crowd began to sing.

They sang carols in the falling snow. They sang all the beautiful old carols of Christmas, the carols of a baby and a star, of a manger and the shepherds, and of angels' wings beating in the winter snow over Bethlehem. They sang of wise men and of gold, of Mary and her child, and of peace on earth and joy in heaven. They sang lustily, as though the loudness of their voices could stave off the bitter cold of the waning afternoon. "In a moment, " Lucille had come down from the bedrooms, "they will want to come in. I must give them wine, some food." "They can't come in! " Lorcet snapped. "How will you stop them?"

Lucille asked as she folded Patrick's clothes on to the table. "They know we're here. We have lamps shining." "You will tell them to go away, Madame!»

Lorcet insisted. «Me!» Lucille asked, her eyes widening. "I should tell my neighbours that they cannot sing me carols on Christmas Eve? Non, monsieur, I shall not tell them any such thing, " "Then we'll just leave the doors locked,»