ItwastoldtoCommanderRaffletonbyaFrenchcomrade，whoindaysofpeacehadbeenapainter，minglingwithothersofhiskind，especiallysuchasfoundtheirinspirationinthewidehorizonsandlegend—haunteddellsofold—worldBrittany.AfterwardstheCommandertoldittotheProfessor，andtheProfessor’sonlystipulationwasthatitshouldnotbetoldtotheDoctor，atleastforatime.FortheDoctorwouldseeinitonlyconfirmationforhisownnarrowsense—boundtheories，whiletotheProfessoritconfirmedbeyondadoubttheabsolutetruthofthisstory.
ItcommencedintheyearEighteenhundredandninety—eight（annoDomini），onaparticularlyunpleasanteveninginlateFebruary——\"astormywinter’snight，\"onewoulddescribeit，wereonewritingmereromance.ItcametothelonelycottageofMadameLavigneontheedgeofthemoorthatsurroundsthesunkenvillageofAven—a—Christ.
MadameLavigne，whowasknittingstockings——forshelivedbyknittingstockings——heard，asshethought，apassingoffeet，andwhatseemedlikeatapatthedoor.Shedismissedtheidea，forwhowouldbepassingatsuchanhour，andwheretherewasnoroad？Butafewminuteslaterthetappingcameagain，andMadameLavigne，takinghercandleinherhand，wenttoseewhowasthere.Theinstantshereleasedthelatchagustofwindblewoutthecandle，andMadameLavignecouldseenoone.Shecalled，buttherewasnoanswer.Shewasabouttoclosethedooragainwhensheheardafaintsound.Itwasnotexactlyacry.Itwasasifsomeoneshecouldnotsee，inthetiniestofvoices，hadsaidsomethingshecouldnotunderstand.
MadameLavignecrossedherselfandmutteredaprayer，andthenshehearditagain.Itseemedtocomefromcloseatherfeet，andfeelingwithherhands——forshethoughtitmightbeastraycat——shefoundquitealargeparcel，Itwaswarmandsoft，though，ofcourse，abitwet，andMadameLavignebroughtitin，andhavingclosedthedoorandre—lithercandle，laiditonthetable.Andthenshesawitwasthetiniestofbabies.
Itmustalwaysbeadifficultsituation.MadameLavignedidwhatmostpeoplewouldhavedoneinthecase.Sheunrolledthewrappings，andtakingthelittlethingonherlap，satdowninfrontofthedullpeatfireandconsidered.Itseemedwonderfullycontented，andMadameLavignethoughtthebestthingtodowouldbetoundressitandputittobed，andthengoonwithherknitting.