Each time it passed before a window, the light from with out, feeble as it was, shone upon the winding-sheet and the ghost, outlining the figure, which passed into the obscurity to reappear and vanish again at each succeeding one, Roland, his eyes fixed upon the figure, fearing to lose sight of it if he diverted his gaze from it, dared not look at the path, apparently so easy to the spectre, yet bristling with obstacles for him. He stumbled at every step. The ghost was gaining upon him. It reached the door opposite to that by which it had entered. Roland saw the entrance to a dark passage. Feeling that the ghost would escape him, he cried: “Man or ghost, robber or monk, halt or I fire!” “A dead body cannot be killed twice, and death has no power over the spirit,” replied the ghost in its muffled voice. “Who are you?” “The Shade of him you tore violently from the earth.” The young officer burst into that harsh, nervous laugh, made more terrible by the darkness around him. “Faith!” said he, “if you have no further indications to give me, I shall not trouble myself to discover you.” “Remember the fountain at Vaucluse,” said the Shade, in a voice so faint the words seemed to escape his lips like a sigh rather than articulate speech. For an instant Roland felt, not his heart failing him, but the sweat pouring from his forehead. Making an effort over himself, he regained his voice and cried, menacingly: “For a last time, apparition or reality, I warn you that, if you do not stop, I shall fire!” The Shade did not heed him, but continued on its way. Roland paused an instant to take aim. The spectre was not ten paces from him. Roland was a sure shot; he had himself loaded his pistols, and only a moment before he had looked to the charge to see that it was intact. As the spectre passed, tall and white, beneath the gloomy vault of the passage, Roland fired. The flash illumined the corridor like lightning, down which the spectre passed with unfaltering, unhastening steps. Then all was blacker than before. The ghost vanished in the darkness. Roland dashed after him, changing his other pistol from the left hand to the right. But short as his stop had been, the ghost had gained ground. Roland saw him at the end of the passage, this time distinctly outlined against the gray background of the night. He redoubled his pace, and as he crossed the threshold of the passage, he fancied that the ghost was plunging into the bowels of the earth. But the torso still remained visible. “Devil or not,” cried Roland, “I follow you!” He fired a second shot, which filled the cavernous space, into which the ghost had disappeared, with flame and smoke.