The walls were covered with commemorative tablets, a collection from top to bottom of stones crumbling from age, on which the deeply-cut inscriptions could still be read.
Almost stifled, Angelique waited, motionless.

A beadle passed, who did not even see her, so closely had she pressed herself against the interior of the iron railing.

She still saw the dress of the penitent who was at the confessional near the entrance.

Her eyes, gradually accustomed to the half-light, were mechanically fixed upon the inscriptions, the characters of which she ended by deciphering.

Certain names struck her, calling back to her memory the legends of the Chateau d'Hautecoeur, of Jean V le Grand, of Raoul III, and of Herve VII.
She soon found two others, those of Laurette and of Balbine, which brought tears to her eyes, so nervous was she from trouble and anxiety--Laurette, who fell from a ray of moonlight, on her way to rejoin her betrothed, and Balbine, who died from sudden joy at the return of her husband, whom she thought had been killed in the war.
They both of them came back at night and enveloped the Castle with their immense, flowing white robes.