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I had just read, for the hundredth time, the Feu du Ciel when I heard
footsteps on the stairs, which soon halted softly at my door. I suspected it was
my host, who came with the intention of bidding me good night, but hesitated to
open the door, not knowing whether I was asleep or not.

“Come in!” said I, putting my book on the night table.

The door opened, and Lucien entered.

“Excuse me,” said he, “but upon reflection, it seemed to me that I had been
so taciturn this evening, that I could not go to bed without asking your pardon.
I therefore come here to make the amende honorable, and as you appear to have a
great many questions on hand, I put myself now at your service.”

“A thousand thanks, said I. On the contrary, through your kindness I am
informed of nearly every thing I wished to know. There is but one thing left to
excite my curiosity, but which I have made up my mind not to question you
about.”

“Why not?”

“That mould be truly a great indiscretion. But pray, don’t urge me, for I
cannot guarantee my reserve.”

“Well, go on then: an unsatisfied curiosity is a very bad thing. It naturally
awakens conjectures, and out of three conjectures there are always two, at
least, more hurtful to the interested person, than the truth would be.”

“Be easy on that subject. My most injurious suspicions against you lead me
simply to believe you to be a kind of sorcerer.”

The young man smiled.

“Diable,” said he, “you now make me as curious as you are; pray explain
yourself.”

“Well! you have been kind enough to clear up all that was obscure to me, with
the exception of only one point. You have shown me those beautiful historical
weapons,—which, by the by, I shall ask the permission to see again before I
leave.”

“That’s one!”

“You have explained the meaning of the double inscription on the stock of
those two carabines.”

“Makes two! go on.”

“You have informed me how, agreeably to the phenomenon of your birth, you
feel, at three hundred leagues distance, the same emotions as your brother, who,
in his turn no doubt, feels yours.”

“Makes three!”

“But when Madame de Franchi, in speaking of the sad feeling which gave you a
presentiment that something disagreeable had occurred to your brother, when,”
said I, “she asked you, if you were sure that he was not dead, you answered her,
no! if he were dead I should have seen him—”

“Yes, that was my answer to her.”

“Well, if the explanation of these words be permitted to enter a profane ear,
I pray you give it to me.”

As I spoke, the face of the young man gradually took so grave an expression,
that I pronounced the last words with some hesitation. There was, even after I
had finished speaking, a momentary silence between us.

“I feel that I have been indiscreet,” said I; “excuse me, and let us suppose
that I have not said anything on this subject.”

“No,” replied he, “only you are a man of the world, and, consequently, a
little incredulous. I therefore fear that you will consider, as an idle
superstition, an old family tradition, which has existed now amongst us for four
hundred years.”

“Listen, sir, if you please; I swear to you, that in respect to legends and
traditions, nobody can be more credulous than myself; there are even things of
this kind, which I believe implicitly; I mean impossibilities.”

“So you believe in apparitions 1”

“Will you permit me to relate what happened to myself?”

“Yes, that will encourage me.”

“My father died in 1807, consequently, at that time I was only about three
years and a half old. As the physicians had declared that my suffering parent
could not survive very long, I was sent to an old cousin who lived in a house
situated between a yard and a garden. She had prepared a bed for me opposite
hers, where she placed me at the usual hour. In spite of the misfortune which
was about to befall me, and of which, by the by, I was totally unconscious, I
fell asleep. Suddenly three violent and hurried knocks were heard at the door. I
sprang out of bed and approached the door.