She appeared to him taller than he remembered her in life

She moved towards him slowly looking up to heaven, followed by the unearthly goat. He felt turned to stone— too petrified to fly. At each step that she advanced, he fell back— that was all. In this manner he re-entered the dark vault of the stairs. He froze at the thought that she might do the same; had she done so, he would have died of horror.
She came indeed as far as the door, halted there for some moments, gazing fixedly into the darkness, but apparently without perceiving the priest, and passed on. She appeared to him taller than he remembered her in life— he saw the moon through her white robe— he heard her breathe.
When she had passed by, he began to descend the stairs with the same slow step he had observed in the spectre— thinking himself a spectre too— haggard, his hair erect, the extinguished lamp still in his hand. And as he descended the spiral stairs he distinctly heard a voice laughing and repeating in his ears: “Then a spirit passed before my face, and I felt a little breath, and the hair of my flesh stood up.”
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1 Because to the monks of Saint-Germain this meadow was a hydra ever raising its head anew in the brawls of the clerks.
Chapter 2 – Humpbacked, One-eyed, Lame
Down to the time of Louis XII, every town in France had its place of sanctuary, forming, in the deluge of penal laws and barbarous jurisdictions that inundated the cities, islands, as it were, which rose above the level of human justice. Any criminal landing upon one of them was safe. In every town there were almost as many of these places of refuge as there were of execution. It was the abuse of impunity side by side with the abuse of capital punishment— two evils seeking to correct one another. The royal palaces, the mansions of the princes, and, above all, the churches, had right of sanctuary. Sometimes a whole town that happened to require repeopling was turned temporarily into a place of refuge. Louis XI made all Paris a sanctuary in 1467.

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