“Oh! I have heard about it too,” said Henriette, “and the nurse declared that she has seen, or heard, the spectre near the little summer-house.” “Mon Dieu! what idiots those people are! And how can you repeat such things, Henriette--such a sensible girl as you are?” Madame Ernest seemed very much irritated that there had been any talk of spectres. I began to laugh. “Why, really,” I said, “it almost seems as if you took the thing seriously. Do you imagine that I am going to run off as fast as I can because these children say that there’s a spectre in your house?” “No, of course not; but don’t you agree with me that it’s wrong to make children timid by talking to them about such things?” “That is the very reason why it is better to laugh with them than to be angry. I am very sure that you are not afraid of the spectre, Henriette, because you understand that there are no such things.” “Oh! papa, I don’t know whether there are any such things, but I’m a little bit afraid too. And the other night I woke up and thought I saw something white going out of my room. Oh! I wanted to shriek; but I just put my head under the bedclothes.” “But, my dear love, you ought to find out first of all what you’re afraid of. What is a spectre? Tell me.” “It is--I don’t know, papa.” “Oh! I know,” cried little Ernest, “a spectre is a ghost.” “Indeed! and what is a ghost?” “A spectre.” “Bravo! you are quite capable of explaining the Apocalypse!” “A spectre,” cried the little girl in her turn, “is a devil with a red tail and green horns, that comes at night and pulls naughty little children’s toes.” That definition made Marguerite and me laugh; but I agreed that she would do well to scold the nurse for telling the children such tales. Young imaginations should never be terrified and darkened. The time when things cease to look rose-colored to us comes quickly enough. We returned to the house talking of spectres. I kissed my children, who went off to bed; then I walked in the garden. It was a magnificent evening and seemed to me to invite one to breathe the cool, moist air. I soon found myself near the summer-house, which was not occupied. The moon was shining on that part of the garden; but its light always inclines one to melancholy. As I glanced at the clumps of trees about me, I remembered the spectre of which we had been talking, and although I am not a believer in ghosts, I realized that, by assisting one’s imagination a little, it was easy to see behind that foliage ghostly figures which moved with the faintest breeze.