“Leave it,” said I, “since it is the custom of the house, and go to bed, I have no more need of you than I have ever had.” “_Mon Dieu_, monsieur,” said he, “if you will permit me, I will pass the night on an easy chair in your room.” “And why, my friend?” “Because I have heard there were ghosts here. Yes, yes, sir, I understand the servants now, they are very much afraid of these ghosts, and I who am an old soldier, I would like to show them that I am not so foolish as they are.” I refused, however, and left him to arrange the bed, while I went down to the library, after having told him not to wait for me. I wandered through the immense hall before beginning my work, and locked myself in carefully, lest I should be disturbed by some prying or mischievous valet. I then lighted a silver candelabra with numerous branches and began to turn over the leaves of the fantastical pamphlet relative to the green ladies. The frequent apparition of the d’Ionis demoiselles observed and reported in detail coincided in every particular with what I had seen and with what the abbé had recounted to me. But then neither he nor I had possessed sufficient faith, or courage to question the phantoms. Others had done so, according to the chroniclers, and it had been reserved for them to see the three maidens, no longer as greenish clouds, but in all the brilliancy of their youth and beauty, not all of them at once, but one in particular, while the others remained in the background. Then this funereal beauty answered all _serious_ and _decent_ questions that might be asked of her. She unveiled the secrets of the past, of the present, and of the future. She gave judicious advice. She informed those who were capable of making a good use of them where treasures lay concealed. She foretold disasters that might be averted, mistakes to be repaired. She spoke in the name of God and of the angels. She was a beneficent power to those who consulted her with good and pious designs, but she invariably reproved and threatened mockers, libertines and impious people. According to the manuscript, they had been known to inflict severe punishment upon those whose intentions were wicked or fraudulent, and those who were only influenced by malice or idle curiosity might expect fearful things to befall them, such as they would have bitter cause to regret. Without particularizing these fearful things, the manuscript furnished the formula of invocation and all the rules to be observed, with so much seriousness and such naïve good faith that I yielded myself to its influence. The apparition assumed such marvelous colors in imagination as to beguile me rather to desire than to fear it. I did not feel in the least depressed or alarmed at the idea of seeing the dead walk or of hearing them speak; on the contrary, I revelled in elysian dreams, and beheld a Beatrix arise in the rays of my empyrean.