ding of a different character amused her, that of the marvellous story
of the Four Brothers Aymon. On the yellow paper cover of the little book,
which had doubtless fallen from the bale of some peddler who had lost his
way in that remote region, there was a naive cut showing the four doughty
knights, Renaud and his brothers, all mounted on Bayard, their famous
battle charger, that princely present made to them by the fairy Orlanda.
And inside were narratives of bloody fights, of the building and
besieging of fortresses, of the terrible swordthrusts exchanged by Roland
and Renaud, who was at last about to free the Holy Land, without
mentioning the tales of Maugis the Magician and his marvellous
enchantments, and the Princess Clarisse, the King of Aquitaine's sister,
who was more lovely than sunlight. Her imagination fired by such stories
as these, Bernadette often found it difficult to get to sleep; and this
was especially the case on the evenings when the books were left aside,
and some person of the company related a tale of witchcraft. The girl was
very superstitious, and after sundown could never be prevailed upon to
pass near a tower in the vicinity, which was said to be haunted by the
fiend. For that matter, all the folks of the region were superstitious,
devout, and simple-minded, the whole countryside being peopled, so to
say, with mysteries--trees which sang, stones from which blood flowed,
cross-roads where it was necessary to say three "Paters" and three
"Aves," if you did not wish to meet the seven-horned beast who carried
maidens off to perdition. And what a wealth of terrifying stories there
was! Hundreds of stories, so that there was no finishing on the evenings
when somebody started them. First came the wehrwolf adventures, the tales
of the unhappy men whom the demon forced to enter into the bodies of
dogs, the great white dogs of the mountains. If you fire a gun at the dog
and a single shot should strike him, the man will be delivered; but if
the shot should fall on the dog's shadow, the man will immediately die.
Then came the endless procession of sorcerers and sorceresses. In one of
these tales Bernadette evinced a passionate interest; it was the story of
a clerk of the tribunal of Lourdes who, wishing to see the devil, was
conducted by a witch into an untilled field at midnight on Good Friday.
The devil arrived clad in magnificent scarlet garments, and at once
proposed to the clerk that he should buy his