The priest and Godefroid then crossed a wide courtyard, at the farther end of which loomed darkly a tall house flanked by a square tower which rose above the roof, and appeared to be in a dilapidated condition.Whoever knows the history of Paris, knows that the soil before and around the cathedral has been so raised that there is not a vestige now of the twelve steps which formerly led up to it.To-day the base of the columns of the porch is on a level with the pavement;consequently what was once the ground-floor of the house of which we speak is now its cellar.A portico, reached by a few steps, leads to the entrance of the tower, in which a spiral stairway winds up round a central shaft carved with a grape-vine.This style, which recalls the stairways of Louis XII.at the chateau of Blois, dates from the fourteenth century.Struck by these and other evidences of antiquity, Godefroid could not help saying, with a smile, to the priest: "This tower is not of yesterday.""It sustained, they say, an assault of the Normans, and probably formed part of the first palace of the kings of Paris; but, according to actual tradition, it was certainly the dwelling of the famous Canon Fulbert, the uncle of Heloise."As he ended these words, the priest opened the door of the apartment which appeared now to be the ground-floor of the house, but was in reality towards both the front and back courtyard (for there was a small interior court) on the first floor.
In the antechamber a maid-servant, wearing a cambric cap with fluted frills for its sole decoration, was knitting by the light of a little lamp.She stuck her needles into her hair, held her work in her hand, and rose to open the door of a salon which looked out on the inner court.The dress of the woman was somewhat like that of the Sisters of Mercy.
"Madame, I bring you a tenant," said the priest, ushering Godefroid into the salon, where the latter saw three persons sitting in armchairs near Madame de la Chanterie.
These three persons rose; the mistress of the house rose; then, when the priest had drawn up another armchair for Godefroid, and when the future tenant had seated himself in obedience to a gesture of Madame de la Chanterie, accompanied by the old-fashioned words, "Be seated, monsieur," the man of the boulevards fancied himself at some enormous distance from Paris,--in lower Brittany or the wilds of Canada.
Silence has perhaps its own degrees.Godefroid, already penetrated with the silence of the rues Massillon and Chanoinesse, where two carriages do not pass in a month, and grasped by the silence of the courtyard and the tower, may have felt that he had reached the very heart of silence in this still salon, guarded by so many old streets, old courts, old walls.
This part of the Ile, which is called "the Cloister," has preserved the character of all cloisters; it is damp, cold, and monastically silent even at the noisiest hours of the day.It will be remarked, also, that this portion of the Cite, crowded between the flank of Notre-Dame and the river, faces the north, and is always in the shadow of the cathedral.The east winds swirl through it unopposed, and the fogs of the Seine are caught and retained by the black walls of the old metropolitan church.No one will therefore be surprised at the sensations Godefroid felt when he found himself in this old dwelling, in presence of four silent human beings, who seemed as solemn as the things which surrounded them.
He did not look about him, being seized with curiosity as to Madame de la Chanterie, whose name was already a puzzle to him.This lady was evidently a person of another epoch, not to say of another world.Her face was placid, its tones both soft and cold; the nose aquiline; the forehead full of sweetness; the eyes brown; the chin double; and all were framed in silvery white hair.Her gown could only be called by its ancient name of "fourreau," so tightly was she sheathed within it, after the fashion of the eighteenth century.The material--a brown silk, with very fine and multiplied green lines--seemed also of that period.The bodice, which was one with the skirt, was partly hidden beneath a mantle of /poult-de-soie/ edged with black lace, and fastened on the bosom by a brooch enclosing a miniature.Her feet, in black velvet boots, rested on a cushion.Madame de la Chanterie, like her maid, was knitting a stocking, and she, too, had a needle stuck through her white curls beneath the lace of her cap.
"Have you seen Monsieur Millet?" she said to Godefroid, in the head voice peculiar to the dowagers of the faubourg Saint-Germain, observing that her visitor seemed confused, and as if to put the words into his mouth.
"Yes, madame."
"I fear that the apartment will scarcely suit you," she said, noticing the elegance and newness of his clothes.
Godefroid was wearing polished leather boots, yellow gloves, handsome studs, and a very pretty gold chain passed through the buttonhole of his waistcoat of black silk with blue flowers.Madame de la Chanterie took a little silver whistle from her pocket and blew it.The serving-woman came.
