ment by a new scene the dramas which had already happened in this
house. The landlord, afraid that he would do so, hurried to conclude
matters as soon as possible with the islander.

The following was the reason of the bad repute of No. 13:

A man had hung himself there for love. This was a horrid story,
but it was not the whole drama. Three years after, two very old
men, who were very rich, and said to be retired merchants, were
found stifled beneath their mattress, and the criminal was
never found out. The people of the quartier, however, knew all
about it, and said who was the murderer. They maintained it was
the old suicide, the shadow of whom was ill at ease, and had a
mortal aversion to any one who disagreed with him about a
suitable and pleasant residence.

Yet for some time No. 13 had looked like all the other houses in the
vicinity. People went in and came out, just as if it had been the
domicile of no ghost. The knocker on the door was often heard, and when
the porter opened his door, a little flower-garden was seen, with
various horticultural treasures, expanding beneath the spring sun.

At length a lodger was found, a very godsend to No. 13, whose lofty
reason was superior to all the fables told of the house, and, by his
presence defended it from the calumny which had been circulated about
it; not by words but deeds, for he lived there, and was neither hung nor
stifled, like the old merchants, who had several very evil disposed
nephews, and who, to say the least, assisted the man that was hung in
procuring the rich inheritance for them. This house had a large
ground-floor, and many handsome rooms on the first story. The second
story was very expensive, having previously been the _studio_ of a
painter, but which had been appropriated by the new lodger to an object
which we will describe by and by. We will not attempt a description of
this new lodger, but will introduce to our readers one more competent to
do it. This person is Mlle. Celestine Crepineau, an old maid between
thirty-seven and forty-nine years of age. She was tall and thin, and had
all her life rejoiced at this, for she had a form three fingers in
diameter. True, a broomstick can be grasped between the thumb and index
finger, and yet is not very graceful. Let not any one think, though, in
spite of this infantine vanity, that Mlle. Crepineau was of those
virgins whom the Bible condemns _as foolish ab