At ten o’clock everyone was in bed at the Château des Noires-Fontaines, or, at any rate, all had retired¹ to their rooms.  
Three or four times in the course of the evening Amélie had approached Roland as if she had something to say to him; but each time the words died upon her lips. When the family left the salon², she had taken his arm, and, although his room was on the floor above hers, she had accompanied him to his very door. Roland had kissed her, bade her good-night, and closed his door, declaring himself very tired.
 
Nevertheless, in spite of this assertion, Roland, once alone, did not proceed to undress. He went to his collection of arms, selected a pair of magnificent pistols, manufactured at Versailles, and presented to his father by the Convention. He snapped the triggers, and blew into the barrels to see that there were no old charges in them. They were in excellent condition. After which he laid them side by side on the table; then going to the door, looking out upon the stairs, he opened it softly to see if any one were watching. Finding the corridor and stairs empty, he went to Sir John’s door and knocked.
 
“Come in,” said the Englishman. Sir John, like himself, was not prepared for bed.
 
“I guessed from the sign you made me that you had something to say to me,” said Sir John, “so I waited for you, as you see.”
 
“Indeed, I have something to say to you,” returned Roland, seating himself gayly in an armchair.
 
“My kind host,” replied the Englishman, “I am beginning to understand you. When I see you as gay as you are now, I am like your peasants, I feel afraid.”
 
“Did you hear what they were saying?”
 
“I heard them tell a splendid ghost story. I, myself, have a haunted castle in England.”
 
“Have you ever seen the ghosts, my lord?”
 
“Yes, when I was little. Unfortunately, since I have grown up they have disappeared.”
 
“That’s always the way with ghosts,” said Roland gayly; “they come and go. How lucky it is that I should return just as the ghosts have begun to haunt the Chartreuse of Seillon.”
 
“Yes,” replied Sir John, “very lucky. Only are you sure that there are any there?”
 
“No. But I’ll know by the day after to-morrow.”
 
“How so?”
 
“I intend to spend to-morrow night there.”
 
“Oh!” said the Englishmen, “would you like to have me go with you?”
 
“With pleasure, my lord. Only, unfortunately, that is impossible.”
 
“Impossible, oh!”
 
“As I have just told you, my dear fellow.”
 
“But why impossible?”
 
“Are you acquainted with the manners and customs of ghosts, Sir John?” asked Roland gravely.
 
“No.”
 
“Well, I am. Ghosts only show themselves under certain conditions.”
 
“Explain that.”
 
“Well, for example, in Italy, my lord, and in Spain, the most superstitious³ of countries, there are no ghosts, or if there are, why, at the best, it’s only once in ten or twenty years, or maybe in a century.”
 
“And to what do you attribute their absence?”
 
“To the absence of fogs.”
 
“Ah! ah!”
 
“Not a doubt of it. You understand the native atmosphere of ghosts is fog. Scotland, Denmark and England, regions of fog, are overrun with ghosts. There’s the spectre of Hamlet, then that of Banquo, the shadows of Richard III. Italy has only one spectre, Cæsar, and then where did he appear to Brutus? At Philippi, in Macedonia and in Thessaly, the Denmark of Greece, the Scotland of the Orient; where the fog made Ovid so melancholy⁴ he named the odes he wrote there Tristia. Why did Virgil make the ghost of Anchises appear to Eneas? Because he came from Mantua. Do you know Mantua? A marsh⁵, a frog-pond, a regular manufactory of rheumatism⁶, an atmosphere of vapors⁷, and consequently a nest of phantoms⁸.”
 
“Go on, I’m listening to you.”
 
“Have you seen the Rhine?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Germany, isn’t it?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Still another country of fairies, water sprites, sylphs, and consequently phantoms (‘for whoso does the greater see, can see the less’), and all that on account of the fog. But where the devil can the ghosts hide in Italy and Spain? Not the least bit of mist. And, therefore, were I in Spain or Italy I should never attempt to-morrow’s adventure.”
 
“But all that doesn’t explain why you refuse my company,” insisted Sir John.
 
“Wait a moment. I’ve just explained to you that ghosts don’t venture into certain countries, because they do not offer certain atmospheric⁹ conditions. Now, let me explain the precautions we must take if we wish to see them.”
 
“Explain! explain!” said Sir John, “I would rather hear you talk than any other man, Roland.”
 
And Sir John, stretching himself out in his easy-chair, prepared to listen with delight to the improvisations of this fantastic mind, which he had seen under so many aspects during the few days of their acquaintance.
 
Roland bowed his head by way of thanks.
 
“Well, this is the way of it, and you will grasp it readily enough. I have heard so much about ghosts in my life that I know the scamps as if I had made them. Why do ghosts appear?”
 
“Are you asking me that?” inquired Sir John.
 
“Yes, I ask you.”
 
“I own that, not having studied ghosts as you have, I am unable to give you a definitive¹⁰ answer.”
 
“You see! Ghosts show themselves, my dear fellow, in order to frighten those who see them.”
 
“That is undeniable.”
 
“Of course! Now, if they don’t frighten those to whom they appear, they are frightened by them; witness M. de Turenne, whose ghosts proved to be counterfeiters. Do you know that story?”
 
“No.”
 
“I’ll tell it to you some day; don’t let’s get mixed up. That is just why, when they decide to appear—which is seldom—ghosts select stormy nights, when it thunders, lightens and blows; that’s their scenery.”
 
“I am forced to admit that nothing could be more correct.”
 
“Wait a moment! There are instances when the bravest man feels a shudder¹¹ run through his veins¹². Even before I was suffering with this aneurism it has happened to me a dozen times, when I have seen the flash of sabres and heard the thunder of cannon¹³ around me. It is true that since I have been subject to this aneurism I rush where the lightning flashes and the thunder growls¹⁴. Still there is the chance that these ghosts don’t know this and believe that I can be frightened.”
 
“Whereas that is an impossibility, isn’t it?” asked Sir John.
 
“What will you! When, right or wrong, one feels that, far from dreading¹⁵ death, one has every reason to seek it, what should he fear? But I repeat, these ghosts, who know so much, may not know that only ghosts know this; they know that the sense of fear increases or diminishes according to the seeing and hearing of exterior¹⁶ things. Thus, for example, where do phantoms prefer to appear? In dark places, cemeteries¹⁷, old cloisters¹⁸, ruins, subterranean¹⁹ passages, because the aspect of these localities predisposes the soul to fear. What precedes their appearance? The rattling²⁰ of chains, groans²¹, sighs, because there is nothing very cheerful in all that? They are careful not to appear in the bright light,............