Nothing could be more sinister than the den now spread out before me—­a great courtyard, the large slabs of which were covered with moss; in one corner, a well, whose stagnant waters you shuddered to look upon; a stairway covered with old shells; at the farther end a gallery, with wooden balustrade, and hanging upon it some old linen and the tick of an old straw mattress; on the first floor, to the left, the stone covering of a common sewer indicated the kitchen; to the right the lofty windows of the building looked out upon the street; then a few pots of dried, withered flowers—­all was cracked, somber, moist.  Only one or two hours during the day could the sun penetrate this loathsome spot; after that, the shadows took possession; then the sunshine fell upon the crazy walls, the worm-eaten balcony, the dull and tarnished glass, and upon the whirlwind of atoms floating in its golden rays, disturbed by no breath of air.

I had scarcely finished these observations and reflections, when the old woman entered, having just returned from market.  I heard the grating of her heavy door.  Then she appeared with her basket.  She seemed fatigued—­almost out of breath.  The lace of her bonnet fell to her nose.  With one hand she grasped the banister and ascended the stairs.

The heat was intolerable, suffocating; it was precisely one of those days in which all insects—­crickets, spiders, mosquitoes, etc.—­make old ruins resound with their strange sounds.

Fledermausse crossed the gallery slowly, like an old ferret who feels at home.  She remained more than a quarter of an hour in the kitchen, then returned, spread out her linen, took the broom, and brushed away some blades of straw on the floor.  At last she raised her head, and turned her little green eyes in every direction, searching, investigating carefully.

Could she, by some strange intuition, suspect anything?  I do not know; but I gently lowered the slate, and gave up my watch for the day.

In the morning Fledermausse appeared reassured.  One angle of light fell upon the gallery.  In passing, she caught a fly on the wing, and presented it delicately to a spider established in a corner of the roof.  This spider was so bloated that, notwithstanding the distance, I saw it descend from round to round, then glide along a fine web, like a drop of venom, seize its prey from the hands of the old shrew, and remount rapidly.  Fledermausse looked at it very attentively, with her eyes half closed; then sneezed, and said to herself, in a jeering tone, “God bless you, beautiful one; God bless you!”

I watched during six weeks, and could discover nothing concerning the power of Fledermausse.  Sometimes, seated upon a stool, she peeled her potatoes, then hung out her linen upon the balustrade.

Sometimes I saw her spinning; but she never sang, as good, kind old women are accustomed to do, their trembling voices mingling well with the humming of the wheel.