changing place, of sinking still deeper into these old stones, whenever
a sudden gust made the snow whirl about her.

Hour after hour passed. For a long time, between the divisions of this
double door, she leaned her back against the abutting pier, on whose
column was a statue of Saint Agnes, the martyr of but thirteen years of
age, a little girl like herself, who carried a branch of palm, and at
whose feet was a lamb. And in the tympanum, above the lintel, the whole
legend of the Virgin Child betrothed to Jesus could be seen in high
relief, set forth with a charming simplicity of faith. Her hair, which
grew long and covered her like a garment when the Governor, whose son
she had refused to marry, gave her up to the soldiers; the flames of
the funeral pile, destined to destroy her, turning aside and burning her
executioners as soon as they lighted the wood; the miracles performed
by her relics; Constance, daughter of the Emperor, cured of leprosy; and
the quaint story of one of her painted images, which, when the priest
Paulinus offered it a very valuable emerald ring, held out its finger,
then withdrew it, keeping the ring, which can be seen at this present
day. At the top of the tympanum, in a halo of glory, Agnes is at last
received into heaven, where her betrothed, Jesus, marries her, so young
and so little, giving her the kiss of eternal happiness.

But when the wind rushed through the street, the snow was blown in the
child's face, and the threshold was almost barred by the white masses;
then she moved away to the side, against the virgins placed above the
base of the arch. These are the companions of Agnes, the saints who
served as her escort: three at her right--Dorothea, who was fed in
prison by miraculous bread; Barbe, who lived in a tower; and Genevieve,
whose heroism saved Paris: and three at her left--Agatha, whose breast
was torn; Christina, who was put to torture by her father; and Cecilia,
beloved by the angels. Above these were statues and statues; three
close ranks mounting with the curves of the arches, decorating them with
chaste triumphant figures, who, after the suffering and martyrdom
of their earthly life, were welcomed by a host of winged cherubim,
transported with ecstasy into the Celestial Kingdom.

There had been no shelter for the little waif for a long time, when at
last the clock struck eight and daylight came. The snow, had she not
trampled it down, would have come up to her shoulders.