“Perfectly! But why can’t I take the first night?” “Ah! first, because the idea didn’t occur to you, and it is only just that I should benefit by my own cleverness. Besides, I belong to the region; I was friendly with the good monks in their lifetime, and there may be a chance of their appearing to me after death. Moreover, as I know the localities, if it becomes necessary to run away or pursue I can do it better than you. Don’t you see the justice of that, my dear fellow?” “Yes, it couldn’t be fairer; but I am sure of going the next night.” “The next night, and the one after, and every day and night if you wish; I only hold to the first. Now,” continued Roland rising, “this is between ourselves, isn’t it? Not a word to any one. The ghosts might be forewarned and act accordingly. It would never do to let those gay dogs get the best of us; that would be too grotesque.” “Oh, be easy about that. You will go armed, won’t you?” “If I thought I was only dealing with ghosts, I’d go with my hands in my pockets and nothing in my fobs. But, as I told you, M. de Turenne’s ghosts were counterfeiters, so I shall take my pistols.” “Do you want mine?” “No, thanks. Though yours are good, I am about resolved never to use them again.” Then, with a smile whose bitterness it would be impossible to describe, he added: “They brought me ill-luck. Good-night! Sir John. I must sleep soundly to-night, so as not to want to sleep to-morrow night.” Then, shaking the Englishman’s hand vigorously a second time, he left the room and returned to his own. There he was greatly surprised to find the door, which he was sure he had left closed, open. But as soon as he entered, the sight of his sister explained the matter to him. “Hello!” he exclaimed, partly astonished, partly uneasy; “is that you, Amélie?” “Yes, it is I,” she said. Then, going close to her brother, and letting him kiss her forehead, she added in a supplicating voice: “You won’t go, will you, dear Roland?” “Go where?” asked Roland. “To the Chartreuse.” “Good! Who told you that?” “Oh! for one who knows, how difficult it is to guess!” “And why don’t you want me to go to the Chartreuse?” “I’m afraid something might happen to you.” “What! So you believe in ghosts, do you?” he asked, looking fixedly into Amélie’s eyes. Amélie lowered her glance, and Roland felt his sister’s hand tremble in his. “Come,” said Roland; “Amélie, at least the one I used to know, General de Montrevel’s daughter and Roland’s sister, is too intelligent to yield to these vulgar terrors. It’s impossible that you can believe these tales of apparitions, chains, flames, spectres, and phantoms.” “If I did believe them, Roland, I should not be so alarmed. If ghosts do exist, they must be souls without bodies, and consequently cannot bring their material hatred from the grave. Besides, why should a ghost hate you, Roland; you, who never harmed any one?” “Good! You forget all those I have killed in war or in duels.”