the approach of men; for, over them, thanks to
the intercession of Mary (of course), she has no
longer power.

On returning along the sands the procession
found a dead body, left by the tide. It was
found to be that of the young sailor, the
betrothed of the poor girl, who, a new Leander,
had been daily in the habit of swimming across
the Rance to visit his Hero, and who had,
through the malignant arts of the fairy, shared
the fate of his prototype, and, as a last stroke
of her vengeance, been cast a lifeless corpse
at the feet of the clergy. The curé had the
body taken up and buried in consecrated
ground.

"The Grotto of the Fairy is still one of the
objects of interest for tourists. It is sometimes
called the Grotto of Dogs, because there may
often be heard issuing from it a sound like the
growling and distant barking of dogs.

That these sounds really exist is positive.
They may be the echoes of the waves, or they
may proceed from currents of air sweeping
through the cavern; but so singular are they
that it is difficult to enter the cave without feeling
considerably impressed by them.

THE THREE CORPSES.

This is no old wife's story, say the people of
St. Suliac; it is a true history, and the facts
occurred before the lamentable days of '93.

Four or five young men of the bourg of St.
Suliac, returning from one of the neighbouring
villages, passed, between eleven and twelve o'clock
at night, through the graveyard. They had
advanced but a few steps, when they perceived
before the reliquary three women kneeling in
prayer; they approached the women, advising
them to accompany them home. In vain; the
devotees remained motionless, not even turning
their heads. Their silent immobility made the
young men feel a little uneasy.

"They are mortes (dead women), boys; let us
pass on," said the most religious of the band,
crossing himself.

"Not a bit of it!" said another. "Women
never made me fly yet; dead or alive I'll see
them nearer. Let he who loves me follow
me!" So saying, he advanced towards the kneeling
group.

"Don't go, Archange," remonstrated his
companions; "leave the women alone; they are not,
perhaps, what they appear, and if you trouble
them you may come to grief."

But Archange, without respect for the place,
or heed for the counsels of his friends, advanced
to where the women still knelt, and addressed
some words to them. Receiving no answer, he
snatched off the coiffe* of one of the women, and
returned to display it to his comrades.

*The coiffe is the cap worn by all the peasant
women and girls, none but children going bare-
headed. In Brittany nearly every village has its
own coiffe, and at the fêtes, where the people for
miles round assemble, the woman of each bourg or
pays may be distinguished by the form of her coiffe.

"What have you done?" they exclaimed.
"Suppose she comes to reclaim her coiffe?"

"I'll give it her back, but not without a kiss,
for she appeared to be very pretty."

"Pretty or ugly, it is a great shame for a
fellow to take off a woman's cap like that."

The young men separated; and Archange went
home, put the coiffe in his cupboard, and went
to bed and to sleep without thinking any more
of the matter.

But next morning, on opening the cupboard,
what sight met his eyes! He started back
with a cry that brought all the family around
him—in the place where he had put the coiffe
lay a skull.

Archange, too terrified to touch the dreadful
object, shut up the cupboard, and went forthwith
to confession.

"My son," said the priest, "your sin is great,
but, thanks to your repentance, it may yet be
repaired. At midnight the skull will again
become a coiffe; take it without fear, but piously
and solemnly, and place it on the head of the
dead woman whose repose you have troubled.
But before doing this you must get some neighbour
to entrust to you a young child at the
breast; you must carry it in your arms, and do
not let it go for an instant either on your way
to the churchyard, when you are near the dead
women, nor even on your way home. Go now,
and do never again trouble the rest of the
dead."

At midnight the young man opened the
cupboard, the skull had disappeared, and there lay
the coiffe. He took it with a shudder and
proceeded to the cemetery, carrying in his arms a
little baby which his sister had entrusted to him.
There were the three dead women; gently he
advanced to the bare-headed one, and reverently
placed on her head the coiffe he had taken from
her the previous night.

At that moment she sprang up and gave him
such a sounding box on the ear that he remained
half stunned; then the three disappeared with
these words:

"Imprudent youth, thou art lucky to have
taken counsel of one wiser than thyself; had
it not been for the angel thou bearest in thy
arms, to-night thou wouldst have slept with us
in the tomb where we have slept a hundred
years."

From that night Archange never entered the
churchyard save on his way to church; and his
companions and the rest of the young men
imitated his respect for the dead.

JEANNE MALOBE.

You cannot have been born at St. Suliac if
you have not heard of Jeanne Malobe. But as
it occasionally happens that people are born
elsewhere, it will not be unreasonable for these
persons to ask who Jeanne Malobe may be?

To get an answer to the question is not so
easy; everybody knows her, but no one can
tell who she is, whence she comes, or whither
she goes. She is a wonderful workwoman, a