out their beauty_. She was
a prudent honest-minded girl, the heart of whom if it ever spoke, did so
in such low terms, that no one ever heard it. Mademoiselle Celestine's
virtue was a proverb. Mothers in all that part of the town spoke of her
as a model of prudence, and fathers pointed her out to their sons as a
warning against the passions of youth. Without father or mother, from
her very childhood Mlle. Crepeneau had no protector but her god-father,
an old lawyer, who owned No. 13 of Babylonne-street. The worthy lawyer
had provided for the youth of Mlle. Celestine, and had long intrusted
her with the control of his kitchen: discovering, however, how
little talent his god-daughter had for the art of _Cussy_ and
_Brillot-Savarin_, and wishing to provide an honorable and comfortable
home for her, he removed her from the charge of her personal to that of
his real property. We will see how fully Mlle. Celestine justified the
esteem of her god-father: with what martial courage she took possession
of this kingdom of shadows; and how, after sprinkling the whole house
with holy water and hung a bough of a blessed tree, she had declared
that this asylum, thus purified, henceforth would be unapproachable to
the man who had been hung.

The fact is, for three years, neither the suicide nor any one else had
violated this sanctuary of virtue. But Mlle. Celestine was not only a
virtuous and sensible woman, but a woman of eloquence. Nothing could be
more attractive than the harangues she made use of to induce lodgers to
occupy her rooms. Honey flowed from her mouth, and many persons were led
away by the siren's song. But generally they soon became terrified and
fled from the terrors which besieged them. Mlle. Celestine Crepeneau
therefore could not praise her new lodger too highly. "What a charming
man," said she to her neighbors in 11 and 51, the porters of which
looked on her as an oracle. "Doctor Matheus is an angel, pure as those
of Paradise. God forgive me for saying so, for I think he is handsomer
than they, with his magnificent whiskers and moustache. I do not see why
angels do not wear them! I am sure they are very becoming. Besides, he
is so kind to other people. Only the other day he wished to set
_Tamburin's_ leg, which some Jacobin had broken." In Mlle. Crepeneau's
mind, a Jacobin was capable of any thing. "And what a magnificent room
he has! how beautiful: all full of noble skeletons, Jacobins' heads, and
books enough to