It Then Stretched Its Arms Toward Heaven, Clasped Its Hands, And
Wringing Them In A Supplicating Manner, Glided Slowly Out Of The Room.
My uncle lay for some time meditating on this visitation, for (as he
Remarked when he told me the story) though a man of firmness, he was
also a man of reflection, and did not reject a thing because it was out
of the regular course of events.
However, being, as I have before said,
a great traveller, and accustomed to strange adventures, he drew his
nightcap resolutely over his eyes, turned his back to the door, hoisted
the bedclothes high over his shoulders, and gradually fell asleep.
How long he slept he could not say, when he was awakened by the voice
of some one at his bed-side. He turned round and beheld the old French
servant, with his ear-locks in tight buckles on each side of a long,
lanthorn face, on which habit had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile.
He made a thousand grimaces and asked a thousand pardons for disturbing
Monsieur, but the morning was considerably advanced. While my uncle was
dressing, he called vaguely to mind the visitor of the preceding night.
He asked the ancient domestic what lady was in the habit of rambling
about this part of the chateau at night. The old valet shrugged his
shoulders as high as his head, laid one hand on his bosom, threw open
the other with every finger extended; made a most whimsical grimace,
which he meant to be complimentary:
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