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The Companions of Jehu
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“And you’ll go to-morrow when it’s light?”
“Oh! Monsieur Louis, before you’re up the boar will be here.”
“Before you’re up,” said Echo.
“All right,” said Roland. “Come back to me the day after tomorrow.”
“Willingly, Monsieur Louis. What do you want us to do?”
“Never mind; just come.”
“Oh! we’ll come.”
“That means that the moment you say, ‘Come,’ you can count upon us, Monsieur Louis.”
“Well, then I’ll have some information for you.”
“What about?”
“The ghosts.”
Amélie gave a stifled cry; Madame de Montrevel alone heard it. Louis dismissed the two peasants, and they jostled each other at the door in their efforts to go through together.
Nothing more was said that evening about the Chartreuse or the pavilion, nor of its supernatural tenants, spectres or phantoms who haunted them.
CHAPTER XV. THE STRONG-MINDED MAN
At ten o’clock everyone was in bed at the Château des Noires-Fontaines, or, at any rate, all had retired 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 salon, 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 superstitious 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 melancholy 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 marsh, a frog-pond, a regular manufactory of rheumatism, an atmosphere of vapors, and consequently a nest of phantoms.”
“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.”
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В борьбе за власть есть первые; есть вторые; и есть 6ыдло (из канала BS "Без Слёз").
- Вторые всегда стремятся стать первыми. Но ресурсы власти – у п...
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