e
cathedral when, amid the shadows, the silence, the half-veiled light
of the moon, he heard the words of the priest. Though, like most of the
sons of our century, he was far from religious, his sensibilities were
touched by those words, and he returned to the rue Chanoinesse, although
he had almost made up his mind not to do so.

The priest and Godefroid were both surprised when they entered together
the rue Massilon, which is opposite to the small north portal of the
cathedral, and turned together into the rue Chanoinesse, at the point
where, towards the rue de la Colombe, it becomes the rue des Marmousets.
When Godefroid stopped before the arched portal of Madame de la
Chanterie's house, the priest turned towards him and examined him by the
light of the hanging street-lamp, probably one of the last to disappear
from the heart of old Paris.

"Have you come to see Madame de la Chanterie, monsieur?" said the
priest.

"Yes," replied Godefroid. "The words I heard you say to that workman
show me that, if you live here, this house must be salutary for the
soul."

"Then you were a witness of my defeat," said the priest, raising the
knocker of the door, "for I did not succeed."

"I thought, on the contrary, it was the workman who did not succeed; he
demanded money energetically."

"Alas!" replied the priest, "one of the great evils of revolutions in
France is that each offers a fresh premium to the ambitions of the lower
classes. To get out of his condition, to make his fortune (which is
regarded to-day as the only social standard), the working-man throws
himself into some of those monstrous associations which, if they do not
succeed, ought to bring the speculators to account before human justice.
This is what trusts often lead to."

The porter opened a heavy door. The priest said to Godefroid: "Monsieur
has perhaps come about the little suite of rooms?"

"Yes, monsieur."

The priest and Godefroid then crossed a wide courtyard, at the farther
end of which loomed darkly a tall house flanked by a square tower which
rose above the roof, and appeared to be in a dilapidated condition.
Whoever knows the history of Paris, knows that the soil before and
around the cathedral has been so raised that there is not a vestige now
of the twelve steps which formerly led up to it. To-day the base of the
columns of the porch is on a level with the pavement; consequently what
was once the ground-floor of the house of which we speak