The hospital-general, so called because it was the trysting-place
alike of disease, old age, and poverty, was a very large structure,
standing, like all old buildings, upon a good deal of ground, and
having very little accommodation. Just in front of the entrance
there was a small screen, where the inmates who were either well or
recovering from illness used to meet when the weather was fine, for
the hospital contained not only the sick, but the paupers, and even
persons who paid a small sum for board and lodging. At the first
glimpse of sunshine they all came to sit out beneath the shade of the
screen upon old cane chairs, and it was the most animated place in the
town. Guyomar and myself always exchanged the time of day with these
good people as we passed, and we were greeted with no little respect,
for though young we were regarded as already clerks of the Church.
This seemed quite natural, but there was one thing which excited our
astonishment, though we were too inexperienced to know much of the
world.

Among the paupers in the hospital was a person whom we never passed
without surprise. This was an old maid of about five-and-forty, who
always wore over her head a hood of the most singular shape; as a
rule she was almost motionless, with a sombre and lost expression of
countenance, and with her eyes glazed and hard-set. When we went by
her countenance became animated, and she cast strange looks at us,
sometimes tender and melancholy, sometimes hard and almost ferocious.
If we looked back at her she seemed to be very much put out. We
could not understand all this, but it had the effect of checking our
conversation and any inclination to merriment. We were not exactly
afraid of her, for though she was supposed to be out of her mind, the
insane were not treated with the cruelty which has since been imported