ever! I made up my mind to speak to her at, once, and see if I could
not stop such hideous mummery. But when I advanced I perceived that
indeed I had come too late. The figure on the ottoman was rigid in
death. How it ever held itself up at all I could never think, for I
gave a loud cry, and rushing from the room knocked against the open
door and fell down senseless.
Outside, I suppose, the snow-boys shovelled away as hard as ever.
When I came to myself I did not need to look around; I knew in a
flash where I was, and remembered what had happened. I ran to the
shop door and hammered with all my might.
"Let me out!" I cried. "Open the door! open the door! for Heaven's
sake!" Then I ran upstairs, and did the same at my window. It seemed
years upon years of time till they were enabled to open the door and
let me out. I rushed out bareheaded, forgetful of the intense cold,
thinking first of all of the, priest _Pere Le Jeune_, so strong is
habit, so potent are traditions. I knew where he lived, up the first
turning in a small red brick house next the church of St. Jean
Baptiste. I told him the facts of the case as well as I could and he
came back at once with me. There was nothing to be done. Visitation
of God or whatever the cause of death Delle Josephine Boulanger was
dead. The priest lifted his hands in horror when he saw the ghostly
hat. I asked him what he knew about her, but he seemed ignorant of
everything concerning the poor thing, except the _aves_ she repeated
and the number of times she came to confession. But when we came to
look over her personal effects in the drawers and boxes of the shop,
there could be no doubt but that she had been thoroughly though
harmlessly insane. We found I should think about one hundred and
fifty boxes: from tiny little ones of pasteboard to large square
ones of deal, full of rows and rows of white quilled ribbon, similar
to the piece I had seen her working at on that last night of her
life on earth. Some of the ribbon was yellow with age, others
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