The autumn and winter evenings were different. Supper over, the four of us would leave the table and gather round the chimney. My mother flung herself, with a sigh, upon an old couch covered in imitation Siam; a stand was put before her with a candle. I sat down with Lucile by the fire; the servants cleared the table and withdrew. My father then began a tramp which lasted till he went to bed. He was dressed in a white ratteen gown, or rather a kind of cloak, which I have seen no one wear except him. His half-bald head was covered with a big white cap that stood straight up on end. When he walked away to a distance from the fire-place, the huge hall was so badly lighted by its solitary candle that he was no longer visible; we could only hear him still walking in the darkness: then he would slowly return towards the light and gradually emerge from the dusk, like a ghost, with his white gown, his white cap, his long pale face. Lucile and I exchanged a few words in a low voice when he was at the other end of the hall; we hushed when he drew nearer to us. He asked, as he passed, "What were you talking about?" Terror-stricken, we made no reply; he continued his walk. For the rest of the evening, the ear heard nothing save the measured sound of his steps, my mother's sighs, and the murmuring of the wind[160]. The hour of ten struck on the castle clock: my father stopped; the same spring which had raised the hammer of the clock seemed to have arrested his steps. He drew out his watch, wound it, took a great silver candle-stick holding a tall candle, went for a moment to the small west tower, then returned, candle in hand, and went towards his bedroom, which formed part of the small east tower. Lucile and I placed ourselves on his way; we kissed him and wished him good-night. He turned his dry, hollow cheek to us without replying, continued his road, and withdrew inside the tower, the doors of which we heard closing behind him. The spell was broken: my mother, my sister and myself, who had been changed into statues by my father's presence, recovered the functions of life. The first effect of our disenchantment took the form of an overflow of words: silence was made to pay us dear for having so long oppressed us. When this torrent of words had sped, I called the waiting-woman and escorted my mother and sister to their rooms. Before I went, they made me look under the beds, up the chimneys, behind the doors, and inspect the surrounding stairs, passages and corridors. All the traditions of the castle concerning robbers and ghosts returned to their memory. The servants were persuaded that a certain Comte de Combourg, with a wooden leg, who had been dead three centuries, appeared at certain intervals, and that he had been seen in the great staircase of the turret; sometimes also his wooden leg walked alone, accompanied by a black cat.