ve business of his own to attend to
as I. I know the habits of the dead, and I know their character.
Indeed, so far as that goes, I know things of which the priests
themselves are ignorant. If I were to tell you all I have seen, you
would be astounded. But a still tongue makes a wise head, and my father,
who, all the same, delighted in spinning a yarn, did not disclose a
twentieth part of what he knew. To make up for this he often repeated
the same stories, and to my knowledge he told the story of Catherine
Fontaine at least a hundred times.

"Catherine Fontaine was an old maid whom he well remembered having seen
when he was a mere child. I should not be surprised if there were still,
perhaps, three old fellows in the district who could remember having
heard folks speak of her, for she was very well known and of excellent
reputation, though poor enough. She lived at the corner of the Rue aux
Nonnes, in the turret which is still to be seen there, and which formed
part of an old half-ruined mansion looking on to the garden of the
Ursuline nuns. On that turret can still be traced certain figures and
half-obliterated inscriptions. The late cure of St. Eulalie, Monsieur
Levasseur, asserted that there are the words in Latin, _Love is stronger
than death_, 'which is to be understood,' so he would add, 'of divine
love.'

"Catherine Fontaine lived by herself in this tiny apartment. She was a
lace-maker. You know, of course, that the lace made in our part of the
world was formerly held in high esteem. No one knew anything of her
relatives or friends. It was reported that when she was eighteen years
of age she had loved the young Chevalier d'Aumont-Clery, and had been
secretly affianced to him. But decent folk didn't believe a word of it,
and said it was nothing but a tale concocted because Catherine
Fontaine's demeanor was that of a lady rather than that of a working
woman, and because, moreover, she possessed beneath her white locks the
remains of great beauty. Her expression was sorrowful, and on one finger
she wore one of those rings fashioned by the goldsmith into the
semblance of two tiny hands clasped together. In former days folks were
accustomed to exchange such rings at their betrothal ceremony. I am sure
you know the sort of thing I mean.

"Catherine Fontaine lived a saintly life. She spent a great deal of time
in churches, and every morning, whatever might be the weather, she went
to assist at the six o'clock Mass a