“Whenever I caught sight of one of these individuals in a hotel I fled like the birds who see a scarecrow in a field.

“This woman, however, appeared so very singular that she did not displease me.

“Madame Lecacheur, hostile by instinct to everything that was not rustic, felt in her narrow soul a kind of hatred for the ecstatic declarations of the old maid.  She had found a phrase by which to describe her, a term of contempt that rose to her lips, called forth by I know not what confused and mysterious mental ratiocination.  She said:  ’That woman is a demoniac.’  This epithet, applied to that austere and sentimental creature, seemed to me irresistibly droll.  I myself never called her anything now but ‘the demoniac,’ experiencing a singular pleasure in pronouncing aloud this word on perceiving her.

“One day I asked Mother Lecacheur:  ’Well, what is our demoniac about to-day?’

“To which my rustic friend replied with a shocked air: 

“’What do you think, sir?  She picked up a toad which had had its paw crushed and carried it to her room and has put it in her washbasin and bandaged it as if it were a man.  If that is not profanation I should like to know what is!’

“On another occasion, when walking along the shore she bought a large fish which had just been caught, simply to throw it back into the sea again.  The sailor from whom she had bought it, although she paid him handsomely, now began to swear, more exasperated, indeed, than if she had put her hand into his pocket and taken his money.  For more than a month he could not speak of the circumstance without becoming furious and denouncing it as an outrage.  Oh, yes!  She was indeed a demoniac, this Miss Harriet, and Mother Lecacheur must have had an inspiration in thus christening her.

“The stable boy, who was called Sapeur, because he had served in Africa in his youth, entertained other opinions.  He said with a roguish air:  ‘She is an old hag who has seen life.’

“If the poor woman had but known!

“The little kind-hearted Celeste did not wait upon her willingly, but I was never able to understand why.  Probably her only reason was that she was a stranger, of another race; of a different tongue and of another religion.  She was, in fact, a demoniac!

“She passed her time wandering about the country, adoring and seeking God in nature.  I found her one evening on her knees in a cluster of bushes.  Having discovered something red through the leaves, I brushed aside the branches, and Miss Harriet at once rose to her feet, confused at having been found thus, fixing on me terrified eyes like those of an owl surprised in open day.

“Sometimes, when I was working among the rocks, I would suddenly descry her on the edge of the cliff like a lighthouse signal.  She would be gazing in rapture at the vast sea glittering in the sunlight and the boundless sky with its golden tints.  Sometimes I would distinguish her at the end of the valley, walking quickly with her elastic English step, and I would go toward her, attracted by I know not what, simply to see her illuminated visage, her dried-up, ineffable features, which seemed to glow with inward and profound happiness.