There were frogs in a rainwater tank constructed many years ago, when some enterprising foe had been known to cut off the water-supply of a besieged chateau, and their friendly croak brought a sense of company and comfort to the Abbe's timid soul.
The door of the Italian house stood open, for the interior had never been completed, and only one apartment, a lofty banqueting-hall, had ever been furnished.

Within the doorway, the Abbe fumbled in the pocket of his soutane and rattled a box of matches.

He carried a parcel in his hand, which he now unfolded, and laid out on the lid of a mouldy chest half a dozen candles.

When he struck a match a flight of bats whirred out of the doorway, and the Abbe's breath whistled through his teeth.
He lighted two candles, and carrying them, alight, in one hand--not without dexterity, for candles played an important part in his life--he went forward.

The flickering light showed his face to be a fat one, kind enough, gleaming now with perspiration and fear, but shiny at other times with that Christian tolerance which makes men kind to their own failings.