The dowager who did not see very well, was not aware of my trouble. I answered her usual questions with the vagueness of the preceding days, but this time without acting any comedy, and with the preoccupation of a poet when questioned stupidly on the subject of his poem, and who gives evasive and ironical replies to get rid of stultifying investigations. I do not know if Madame d’Ionis was anxious or surprised to see me thus. I did not look at her, I did not even see her. I hardly understood what she was saying to me, during the mortal constraint of this breakfast. At last I found myself alone in the library, awaiting her as on previous days, but without any impatience whatever. Far from it, I felt a lively satisfaction in sinking into a revery. The weather was admirable; the sun kissed the trees and the blooming grounds beyond the large masses of transparent shadows that were projected by the architecture of the chateau on the nearest flowerbeds. I walked from one end of this vast hall to the other, stopping each time that I found myself before the fountain. The windows were closed and the curtains drawn on account of the heat. These curtains were of a soft shade of blue that I tried to imagine green, and in this artificial twilight which somewhat recalled that of my vision, I experienced an incredible sensation of happiness, and a species of delirious gayety. I was talking aloud, and laughing without being aware of any cause, when I felt some one seize me rather roughly by the arm. I turned around and saw Madame d’Ionis, who had come in without my observing her. “Come, answer me, look at me at least,” said she with some impatience. “Are you aware that you frighten me, and that I no longer know what to think of you?” “You have your wish,” I answered, “I have tampered with my reason, I have become insane. But do not reproach yourself on that account; I am much happier thus, and do not wish to be cured.” “So,” said she, scrutinizing me anxiously, “this apparition is not then an absurd story? At least, you think—you have seen it produced?” “Better than I see you at this moment.” “Don’t affect such an air of stupid pride—I do not doubt your words. Tell me all about it quietly.” “No, never! I implore you do not question me. I cannot, I do not wish to answer.” “Really the society of ghosts does not seem to agree with you, my dear sir, and you will make me think that you have heard some singularly flattering things, for you are as proud and discreet as a fortunate lover.” “Ah! what do you say, madame?” I cried, “No love is possible between two beings separated by the abyss of a tomb. But you know not of what you speak, you believe in nothing, you ridicule everything.” I was so rude in my enthusiasm, that Madame d’Ionis was rather vexed. “There is one thing which I do not ridicule,” said she quickly; “and that is my law suit, and since you have promised on your honor, to consult a mysterious oracle and to obey its orders—”