"It's not a question of spiders," resumed the old servant, rather ill-humoredly; "if I had not seen that which--but at the bottom of a closet Mademoiselle Blanche found a diabolical book; it was the conjuring-book of a sorcerer named Odoard. Have you ever heard tell of a sorcerer by that name?" "No, not that I remember. If you were to ask me about a brave man, a man of spirit, a rake of honor, most certainly I should have known him; but a sorcerer! What the devil do you think I should have to do with him? These people don't fight." "Monsieur Chaudoreille,--you who are so brave,--you must render me a service." "What is it?" inquired Chaudoreille, paying more attention to Marguerite's words. "Just now, after having burned the conjuring-book of that Odoard, surnamed the great Tier of Tags, I made another inspection of my room, sprinkling holy water everywhere, as you may well suppose." "And what followed?" "At the end of the alcove I perceived a little door,--one would never have supposed there was a door there; but, though old, I have good eyes, and, while pushing the bed, which made the wainscot creak, I saw the door." "To the point, I beg of you," resumed Chaudoreille, whose eyes betrayed the uneasiness he tried in vain to dissemble. "Well, now, I confess to you, monsieur, that I didn't dare open that door. It was no doubt the door of a closet; but that alcove is so gloomy, so dark. Finally, I'll be very much obliged if you'll come up with me and go first into whatever place we find there. I daren't ask M. Touquet, for he'd scoff at me." "And he would be right, by jingo! Why, Marguerite, at your age, not to have more courage than that!" "What can you expect? I'm afraid there may be a goblin in that closet, who will jump in my face when I open the door, which has perhaps been closed for many years; for I've never seen M. Touquet enter the room." "Don't goblins pass through keyholes? Come, Marguerite, I blush for your cowardice." "No one can say that sorcerers are rare in Paris. Haven't they established a Chamber at the Arsenal expressly to judge them?" "That's true, I confess; but I don't see what makes you imagine there are any in this house?" "Ah, Monsieur Chaudoreille, if I was to tell you all I have seen and heard--and at night the noises which--" "What have you seen, dear nurse?" inquired Blanche, whose reverie had flown, and who had heard the last words of the old woman. "Nothing--nothing--mademoiselle;" and the old servant added, addressing the chevalier in a low tone, "My master doesn't like me to talk of it, and he'll send me away if he learns--" "That's enough; I don't wish to hear anything further," said Chaudoreille, rising and taking his hat. "And since Touquet has forbidden you to tell these idle stories, I beg you not to deafen my ears with them." "But you'll come upstairs with me and look in the closet--won't you, monsieur?"