torch-bearing maid of battle, like Clotilde, no knightly leader of deliverance like Jeanne, but grey in meekness of wisdom, and now "filling more and more with crystal light." Clovis's father had known her; he himself made her his friend, and when he left Paris on the campaign of Poitiers, vowed that if victorious, he would build a Christian church on the hills of Seine. He returned in victory, and with St. Genevieve at his side, stood on the site of the ruined Roman Thermae, just above the "Isle" of Paris, to fulfil his vow: and to design the limits of the foundations of the first metropolitan church of Frankish Christendom.
The King "gave his battle-axe the swing," and tossed it with his full force. Measuring with its flight also, the place of his own grave, and of Clotilde's, and St. Genevieve's. There they rested, and rest,—in soul,—together. "La Colline tout entiere porte encore le nom de la patronne de Paris; une petite rue obscure a garde celui du Roi Conquerant.'
