Fanchon laughed on, and the noise finally woke Pere Mauflard, who rubbed his eyes and asked what the matter was.

But Denise's aunt restored order by arranging the whole party in a circle. The seats of honor by the fireplace were offered to the two ladies. Cezarine, who had seated herself beside the tall lout, said that she was very comfortable and that the heat made her ill. Virginie sat between two old men. Denise took Coco in her lap; she alone had no share in the pleasures of the occasion, and her heart as well as her thoughts bore her far from the village.

An old woman began a tale of robbers; another told a ghost story; and as neither of them interested Cezarine, while the simple folk tremblingly huddled together, she played games with the tall youth, and chucked him under the chin, saying:

"How much he looks like Theodore!"

An old peasant took the floor and announced that he proposed to sing the lament composed on the extraordinary death of Etienne de Garlande, formerly lord of Livry, who espoused the cause of Amaury de Montfort against Louis le Gros; the lament had only seventy-two stanzas.

As each stanza, sung to a most doleful tune in the measure of _Malbrouck_, lasted nearly five minutes, Virginie rose at the second, took a candle, whispered to Mere Fourcy that she was going to bed, and vanished without diverting the peasants' attention from the dirge.

But Cezarine, who was not at all anxious to listen to the seventy-two stanzas, interrupted the peasant in the middle of the fourth, saying:

"My dear friend, your thory ith very pretty, but it will end by putting everybody to thleep like neighbor Mauflard, who hath been thnoring for an hour. If you thay tho, I'll give you a then from a tragedy. Do you know what tragedy ith, my friendth?"

"No, madame," said the villagers.

"And comedy--have you ever been to one?"

"No, madame."

"Oh! I know what it is," said one of the young blades; "I've been in Paris. It's a place where you see men and women behind a curtain that goes up; and then there's lamps, and they say silly things and wave their arms about, and you can't understand nothing at all; but it's almighty fine."

"That'th the very thing, my dear boy; you know all about it. Tho you'll be able to explain to the company what they can't grathp right away. I'm going to give you a thene from _Andromaque_. Come with me, my fine fellow, you're going to be Pyrrhuth."

Cezarine took the tall youth by the arm, placed a wooden bench at the rear of the room, unfolded her shawl and draped it round her body, and removed one of her garters, which she knotted about the young peasant's brow; he allowed himself to be thus decorated, not daring to stir. The peasants, their eyes fixed on Cezarine, waited impatiently to see what she was going to do. After removing her hat and arranging her hair on top of her head, Cezarine ordered the tall youth to stand on one end of the bench and took her own place on the other end, saying:

"Now we're going to begin. But firtht I think I ought to tell you a little about the thubject of the play. Lithen: Andromaque ith a queen whothe huthband hath been killed; Pyrrhuth here wanth to marry her, and the won't. That'th the whole of it--now you underthtand; don't you?"

"Yes, yes," said the peasants; "anyway Jean-Francois'll explain the rest."

"All right. I'll begin; and you, Pyrrhuth, do me the favor not to keep your eyeth on your big toe all the time, for Pyrrhuth ought not to look like a zany."

The gawky youth, in order to obey the lovely lady, at whom he dared not glance, raised his eyes and thereafter did not take them from the ceiling.

Cezarine a.s.sumed a n.o.ble pose and began:

"And what more wouldtht thou I thould thay to him?

Author of all my i11th, thinktht thou he knowth them not?

My lord, thee to what low ethtate thou dotht reduth me.

I have theen my father dead, and our abode on fire; I have theen the liveth of my whole family in peril, And my blood-thtained huthband dragged amid the dutht."

"Poor soul! think of her seeing all that!" said the peasant women. "Is that all true, Jean-Francois?"

"Yes, yes! of course it's true! Don't she tell you she saw it?"

"My children," said Cezarine, "if you interrupt me, I than't be inthpired any more; a little thilence, if you pleathe."

"I breathe again, I therve; I have done more, thometimeth I have ta'en comfort Becauthe my fate hath exiled me here and not elthwhere; Becauthe, happy in my mithery, the thon of tho many kingth, Thinthe he mutht therve, hath fallen beneath your thway; I have thought that hith prithon would become hith refuge; Of yore the conquered Priam wath by Achilleth thpared; I from hith thon e'en greater kindneth did ant.i.thipate.

Forgive me, Hector dear----"

"Friend Pyrrhuth, pray attend to bithneth. Are you looking for thpiderth on the theiling?"

The tall youth looked toward the door, and Cezarine resumed:

"Forgive me, Hector dear----"

"Thilenth, my children," she said, pausing again; "I beg the perthon who ith thnoring tho loud to do me the favor to go."

Cezarine was about to continue her declamation when there came another prolonged groan. All the villagers looked at one another, saying:

"Who on earth is making such a noise as that?"

"It ain't me."

"Nor me."

"Nor it ain't Pere Mauflard neither."

Another groan woke the echoes of the living-room. Terror was depicted on every face, and the peasants crowded closer together.

"Great G.o.d! what can that be?" they exclaimed.

"You are frightened at nothing at all," said Cezarine; "it'th thome brute prowling round the yard."

"Oh! that ain't no brute's voice, I tell you! it's more like some dead man's soul."

"I say! perhaps it's Jacques Ledru, as died a week ago!"

"Ain't it more like to be the ghost of Mere Lucas, who was so ugly when she was living? Perhaps she's bent on tormenting us still."

To set their minds at rest, Cezarine was on the point of resuming her tirade, when the gawky youth, whose eyes were fixed on the door, uttered a horrible yell and fell from the bench, thereby causing Andromaque to fall upon him.

"What is it? what's the matter?" cried the terrified peasants in chorus.

The tall youth, who had not the strength to speak, pointed to the door; then hid his face in his hands. All the villagers looked at the place at which he pointed: the door was thrown open, disclosing in the doorway a white phantom of extraordinary size, whose eyes flashed fire.

At that horrible sight, all the women uttered heart-rending shrieks and tumbled over one another in their haste to get away from the door. Most of the men did the same, shouting: "Let's get out of this!" But, as they could not escape by the door, where the phantom stood on guard, they pushed one another toward the end of the room; and in the hurly-burly, chairs and benches were overturned, as well as the table that held the lamp, which fell to the floor and was extinguished. The sudden darkness added to the general alarm; those who had not seen the lamp fall thought that the phantom had caused that terrifying obscurity by his mere presence; the shrieks redoubled; it was impossible to see, they fell over one another, and everyone thought that it was the devil falling upon him. To add still more to their terror the phantom uttered blood-curdling grunts and piteous groans.

The confusion lasted several minutes, the peasants shrieking in terror and offering up prayers. Mademoiselle Cezarine alone was not heard to bewail her fate, although she too had fallen, with the tall youth. The latter had the courage to look toward the door, where he saw the gleaming-eyed phantom.

"It's still there!" he said under his breath; "it don't go away!"

Whereupon Mademoiselle Cezarine was heard to say in a stifled voice:

"Don't thtir, my children, and above all thingth, don't light any candleth, or the devil will come and carry uth off!"

Suddenly the barking of a dog was heard in the yard; it was soon followed by yells from the phantom, who was struggling with the beast and calling the peasants to its a.s.sistance.