"Slowly, mademoiselle; don't carry anything until I have sprinkled it with holy water."
Blanche, to spare Marguerite fatigue, had very soon finished the moving.
"You will be better here," said Blanche; "this room is more convenient, larger."
"I shall find it pretty sad," said Marguerite, casting fearful glances around her. "That large alcove, those dark hangings, those recesses—Oh, mademoiselle, do see, if you please, if there is anything in that big closet."
Blanche ran to open the closet, and, after having looked through it, brought to Marguerite a little book, thick with dust.
"That's all I've found, dear nurse," said she, presenting the book to the old woman, who put on her spectacles and said,—
"Let's see a bit what it is."
Marguerite succeeded, with no little trouble, in reading, "Conjuring-book of the Sorcerer Odoard, the Famous Tier of Tags."
"Ah, mon Dieu!" said Marguerite, letting the book fall; "I am lost if that sorcerer has slept in this room. Miséricorde! a tier of—"
"What does that mean,—a tier of tags?"