"If she had not spoken, I might have died. But she did speak; she spoke in a soft and plaintive voice which set my nerves vibrating. I could not say that I regained my self-control. No, I was past knowing what I did; but the kind of pride I have in me, as well as a military pride, helped me to maintain, almost in spite of myself, an honorable countenance. I was making a pose, a pose for myself, and for her, for her, whatever she was, woman, or phantom. I realized this later, for at the time of the apparition, I could think of nothing. I was afraid. "She said: "'Oh, you can be of great help to me, monsieur!' "I tried to answer, but I was unable to utter one word. A vague sound came from my throat. "She continued: "'Will you? You can save me, cure me. I suffer terribly. I always suffer. I suffer, oh, I suffer!' "And she sat down gently in my chair. She looked at me. "'Will you?' "I nodded my head, being still paralyzed. "Then she handed me a woman's comb of tortoise-shell, and murmured: "'Comb my hair! Oh, comb my hair! That will cure me. Look at my head--how I suffer! And my hair--how it hurts!' "Her loose hair, very long, very black, it seemed to me, hung over the back of the chair, touching the floor. "Why did I do it? Why did I, shivering, accept that comb, and why did I take between my hands her long hair, which left on my skin a ghastly impression of cold, as if I had handled serpents? I do not know. "That feeling still clings about my fingers, and I shiver when I recall it. "I combed her, I handled, I know not how, that hair of ice. I bound and unbound it; I plaited it as one plaits a horse's mane. She sighed, bent her head, seemed happy. "Suddenly she said, 'Thank you!' tore the comb from my hands, and fled through the door which I had noticed was half opened. "Left alone, I had for a few seconds the hazy feeling one feels in waking up from a nightmare. Then I recovered myself. I ran to the window and broke the shutters by my furious assault. "A stream of light poured in. I rushed to the door through which that being had gone. I found it locked and immovable. "Then a fever of flight seized on me, a panic, the true panic of battle. I quickly grasped the three packages of letters from the open desk; I crossed the room running, I took the steps of the stairway four at a time. I found myself outside, I don't know how, and seeing my horse close by, I mounted in one leap and left at a full gallop. "I didn't stop till I reached Rouen and drew up in front of my house. Having thrown the reins to my orderly, I flew to my room and locked myself in to think. "Then for an hour I asked myself whether I had not been the victim of an hallucination. Certainly I must have had one of those nervous shocks, one of those brain disorders such as give rise to miracles, to which the supernatural owes its strength.