of events twenty, thirty, and sometimes forty years past, especially those which in that time go to make up the history of Paris. For fifteen years she and her daughter had lived here in the stone house, where they had come to await the Madame's death, which at the time of their arrival had seemed probable any day. It was her last and only remaining desire to be buried in a certain spot in the cemetery across the way.
Beyond these facts, which M. de Corbiére gathered from their conversation, from them he learned nothing more. Their past and inner lives were closed and sealed. Not that they were unpleasantly glum; for they were, indeed, always polite and accommodating—at times to a degree that was painful; they seemed greatly pleased with his company; and on his departure, bade him return sometime. But from the people of the town into whose confidence and friendship he finally made inroads, M. de Corbière learned of a chain of events concerning the stone house that had come to be a tradition, and that had not only made the house famous, but had given the town
