Jacqueline stood stupefied as she
listened to the edict fulminated against his lodgers by the sergeant
of the watch. She mechanically looked up at the window of the room
inhabited by the old man, and shivered with horror as she suddenly
caught sight of the gloomy, melancholy face, and the piercing eye that
so affected her husband, accustomed as he was to dealing with criminals.

At that period, great and small, priests and laymen, all trembled before
the idea of any supernatural power. The word "magic" was as powerful as
leprosy to root up feelings, break social ties, and freeze piety in the
most generous soul. It suddenly struck the constable's wife that she
had never, in fact, seen either of her lodgers exercising any human
function. Though the younger man's voice was as sweet and melodious as
the tones of a flute, she so rarely heard it that she was tempted to
think his silence the result of a spell. As she recalled the strange
beauty of that pink-and-white face, and saw in memory the fine hair and
moist brilliancy of those eyes, she believed that they were indeed the
artifices of the Devil. She remembered that for days at a time she
had never heard the slightest sound from either room. Where were the
strangers during all those hours?

Suddenly the most singular circumstances recurred to her mind. She was
completely overmastered by fear, and could even discern witchcraft in
the rich lady's interest in the young Godefroid, a poor orphan who had
come from Flanders to study at the University of Paris. She hastily put
her hand into one of her pockets, pulled out four livres of Tournay in
large silver coinage, and looked at the pieces with an expression of
avarice mingled with terror.

"That, at any rate, is not false coin," said she, showing the silver
to her husband. "Besides," she went on, "how can I turn them out after
taking next year's rent paid in advance?"

"You had better inquire of the Dean of the Chapter," replied Tirechair.
"Is not it his business to tell us how we should deal with these
extraordinary persons?"

"Ay, truly extraordinary," cried Jacqueline. "To think of their cunning;
coming here under the very shadow of Notre-Dame! Still," she went on,
"or ever I ask the Dean, why not warn that fair and noble lady of the
risk she runs?"

As she spoke, Jacqueline went into the house with her husband, who had
not missed a mouthful. Tirechair, as a man grown old in the tricks
of his trade, affected to beli