Scarcely had he settled into a peaceful attitude of repose, when he was disturbed by a sensation of thirst. Lifting himself on his elbow, he took a glass of lemonade from the small stand which was placed beside him. He refreshed himself by a deep draught. As he returned the goblet to its station a deep groan burst from a kind of closet in one corner of the apartment. ‘Who’s there?’ cried the Emperor, seizing his pistols. ‘Speak, or I’ll blow your brains out.’ This threat produced no other effect than a short, sharp laugh, and a dead silence followed. The Emperor started from his couch, and, hastily throwing on a _robe-de-chambre_ which hung over the back of a chair, stepped courageously to the haunted closet. As he opened the door something rustled. He sprang forward sword in hand. No soul or even substance appeared, and the rustling, it was evident, proceeded from the falling of a cloak, which had been suspended by a peg from the door. Half ashamed of himself he returned to bed. Just as he was about once more to close his eyes, the light of the three wax tapers, which burned in a silver branch over the mantelpiece, was suddenly darkened. He looked up. A black, opaque shadow obscured it. Sweating with terror, the Emperor put out his hand to seize the bell-rope, but some invisible being snatched it rudely from his grasp, and at the same instant the ominous shade vanished. ‘Pooh!’ exclaimed Napoleon, ‘it was but an ocular delusion.’ ‘Was it?’ whispered a hollow voice, in deep mysterious tones, close to his ear. ‘Was it a delusion, Emperor of France? No! all thou hast heard and seen is sad forewarning reality. Rise, lifter of the Eagle Standard! Awake, swayer of the Lily Sceptre! Follow me, Napoleon, and thou shalt see more.’ As the voice ceased, a form dawned on his astonished sight. It was that of a tall, thin man, dressed in a blue surtout edged with gold lace. It wore a black cravat very tightly round its neck, and confined by two little sticks placed behind each ear. The countenance was livid; the tongue protruded from between the teeth, and the eyes all glazed and bloodshot started with frightful prominence from their sockets. ‘Mon Dieu!’ exclaimed the Emperor, ‘what do I see? Spectre, whence cometh thou?’ The apparition spoke not, but gliding forward beckoned Napoleon with uplifted finger to follow. Controlled by a mysterious influence, which deprived him of the capability of either thinking or acting for himself, he obeyed in silence. The solid wall of the apartment fell open as they approached, and, when both had passed through, it closed behind them with a noise like thunder.