“I have seen them, mademoiselle; perhaps once—­twice—­three times!  It is true madame is lovely as an angel; but they say”—­here she lowered her voice mysteriously—­“that she is wedded to a devil!  It is true, mademoiselle—­all people say so.  And Suzanne Michot—­a very respectable young person, mademoiselle, from Auteuil—­she was employed at one time as under-housemaid at Dr. Casimir’s, and she had things to say—­ah, to make the blood like ice!”

“What did she say?” I asked with a half smile.

“Well,” and Madame Denise came close to me and looked confidential, “Suzanne—­I assure you a most respectable girl—­said that one evening she was crossing the passage near Madame Casimir’s boudoir, and she saw a light like fire coming through the curtains of the portiere.  And she stopped to listen, and she heard a strange music like the sound of harps.  She ventured to go nearer—­Suzanne is a brave girl, mademoiselle, and most virtuous—­and to raise the curtain the smallest portion just to permit the glance of an eye.  And—­imagine what she saw.”

“Well!” I exclaimed impatiently.  “What did she see?”

“Ah, mademoiselle, you will not believe me—­but Suzanne Michot has respectable parents, and would not tell a lie—­well, Suzanne saw her mistress, Madame Casimir, standing up near her couch with both arms extended as to embrace the air.  Round her there was—­believe it or not, mademoiselle, as you please—­a ring of light like a red fire, which seemed to grow larger and redder always.  All suddenly, madame grew pale and more pale, and then fell on her couch as one dead, and all the red fire went out.  Suzanne had fear, and she tried to call out—­but now see what happened to Suzanne!  She was pushed from the spot, mademoiselle, pushed along as though by some strong personage; yet she saw no one till she reached her own door, and in her room she fainted from alarm.  The very next morning Dr. Casimir dismissed her, with her full wages and a handsome present besides; but he looked at her, Suzanne said, in a manner to make her tremble from head to foot.  Now, mademoiselle, judge yourself whether it is fit for one who is suffering with nerves to go to so strange a house!”

I laughed.  Her story had not the least effect upon me.  In fact, I made up my mind that the so respectable and virtuous Suzanne Michot had been drinking some of her master’s wine.  I said: 

“Your words only make me more desirous to go, Madame Denise.  Besides, Dr. Casimir has already done me a great deal of good.  You must have heard things of him that are not altogether bad, surely?”

The little woman reflected seriously, and then said, as with some reluctance: 

“It is certainly true, mademoiselle, that in the quarter of the poor he is much beloved.  Jean Duclos—­he is a chiffonnier—­had his one child dying of typhoid fever, and he was watching it struggling for breath; it was at the point to die.  Monsieur le Comte Casimir, or Dr. Casimir—­for he is called both—­came in all suddenly, and in half an hour had saved the little one’s life.  I do not deny that he may have some good in him, and that he understands medicine; but there is something wrong—­” And Madame Denise shook her head forlornly a great number of times.