te, crowded between the flank of Notre-Dame
and the river, faces the north, and is always in the shadow of the
cathedral. The east winds swirl through it unopposed, and the fogs
of the Seine are caught and retained by the black walls of the
old metropolitan church. No one will therefore be surprised at the
sensations Godefroid felt when he found himself in this old dwelling, in
presence of four silent human beings, who seemed as solemn as the things
which surrounded them.

He did not look about him, being seized with curiosity as to Madame
de la Chanterie, whose name was already a puzzle to him. This lady was
evidently a person of another epoch, not to say of another world. Her
face was placid, its tones both soft and cold; the nose aquiline; the
forehead full of sweetness; the eyes brown; the chin double; and all
were framed in silvery white hair. Her gown could only be called by its
ancient name of "fourreau," so tightly was she sheathed within it, after
the fashion of the eighteenth century. The material--a brown silk, with
very fine and multiplied green lines--seemed also of that period. The
bodice, which was one with the skirt, was partly hidden beneath a mantle
of _poult-de-soie_ edged with black lace, and fastened on the bosom by a
brooch enclosing a miniature. Her feet, in black velvet boots, rested
on a cushion. Madame de la Chanterie, like her maid, was knitting a
stocking, and she, too, had a needle stuck through her white curls
beneath the lace of her cap.

"Have you seen Monsieur Millet?" she said to Godefroid, in the head
voice peculiar to the dowagers of the faubourg Saint-Germain, observing
that her visitor seemed confused, and as if to put the words into his
mouth.

"Yes, madame."

"I fear that the apartment will scarcely suit you," she said, noticing
the elegance and newness of his clothes.

Godefroid was wearing polished leather boots, yellow gloves, handsome
studs, and a very pretty gold chain passed through the buttonhole of his
waistcoat of black silk with blue flowers. Madame de la Chanterie took
a little silver whistle from her pocket and blew it. The serving-woman
came.

"Manon, my child, show this gentleman the apartment. Would you, my dear
vicar, be so kind as to accompany him?" she said, addressing the priest.
"If by chance," she added, rising and again looking at Godefroid, "the
apartment suits you, we will talk of the conditions."

Godefroid bowed and went out. He heard the rattle