"My dear Blanche," said Marguerite, "it was not that you might tell her your history, but that she might acquaint us with the secret she is keeping that she came here. Now, Ursule, speak my child!"
Urbain sighed; he would much rather have listened to Blanche than have talked to Marguerite; but it was necessary to satisfy the old maid, he needed her; and it was by exciting her curiosity that he hoped often to see Blanche. He commenced his recital, disguising his voice, and while he spoke the beautiful child fixed her eyes on him, a favor which he owed to his costume, but which often made him lose the thread of his discourse.
"You have doubtless heard tell of Jeanne Harviliers, so famous a century ago for her witcheries and sorceries."
"No, never," said Marguerite, drawing her chair nearer and stretching her neck, because the word sorcery had already produced its electrical effect upon the old servant. "Tell us the history of this sorcery, my child, and try not to omit a single fact."
"Jeanne Harviliers was born at Verberie in the year 1528. Her mother, they say, was a wicked woman, who dedicated her child to the devil as soon as she came into the world.
"When Jeanne was twelve years old the devil presented himself to her in the guise of a black man, armed and booted."
"Dear nurse," said Blanche, "can the devil then take any form he pleases?"
"Yes, of course, I've told you so a hundred times; he changes as he wishes."
"You've always said, dear nurse, that he shows himself as a black cat."
"A cat or a man, what does it matter?"