“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 at St. Eulalie.

“Now one December night, whilst she was in her little chamber, she was awakened by the sound of bells, and nothing doubting that they were ringing for the first Mass, the pious woman dressed herself, and came downstairs and out into the street.  The night was so obscure that not even the walls of the houses were visible, and not a ray of light shone from the murky sky.  And such was the silence amid this black darkness, that there was not even the sound of a distant dog barking, and a feeling of aloofness from every living creature was perceptible.  But Catherine Fontaine knew well every single stone she stepped on, and, as she could have found her way to the church with her eyes shut, she reached without difficulty the corner of the Rue aux Nonnes and the Rue de la Paroisse, where the timbered house stands with the tree of Jesse carved on one of its massive beams.  When she reached this spot she perceived that the church doors were open, and that a great light was streaming out from the wax tapers.  She resumed