of my years. My physiognomy has never been expressive,
I believe, and as to my years I am not ancient enough as yet to be
strikingly decrepit. I have no long beard like the good hermit of a
romantic ballad; my footsteps are not tottering, my aspect not that of
a slow, venerable sage. Those picturesque advantages are not mine. I am
old, alas, in a brisk, commonplace way. And it seemed to me as though
there were some pity for me in Miss Haldin's prolonged glance. She
stepped out a little quicker.

"You ask for all the details. Let me see. I ought to remember them. It
was novel enough for a--a village girl like me."

After a moment of silence she began by saying that the Chateau Borel was
almost as neglected inside as outside. It was nothing to wonder at, a
Hamburg banker, I believe, retired from business, had it built to cheer
his remaining days by the view of that lake whose precise, orderly,
and well-to-do beauty must have been attractive to the unromantic
imagination of a business man. But he died soon. His wife departed
too (but only to Italy), and this house of moneyed ease, presumably
unsaleable, had stood empty for several years. One went to it up a
gravel drive, round a large, coarse grass-plot, with plenty of time to
observe the degradation of its stuccoed front. Miss Haldin said that the
impression was unpleasant. It grew more depressing as one came nearer.

She observed green stains of moss on the steps of the terrace. The front
door stood wide open. There was no one about. She found herself in a
wide, lofty, and absolutely empty hall, with a good many doors. These
doors were all shut. A broad, bare stone staircase faced her, and
the effect of the whole was of an untenanted house. She stood still,
disconcerted by the solitude, but after a while she became aware of a
voice speaking continuously somewhere.

"You were probably being observed all the time," I suggested. "There
must have been eyes."

"I don't see how that could be," she retorted. "I haven't seen even a
bird in the grounds. I don't remember hearing a single twitter in the
trees. The whole place appeared utterly deserted except for the voice."

She could not make out the language--Russian, French, or German. No one
seemed to answer it. It was as though the voice had been left behind by
the departed inhabitants to talk to the bare walls. It went on volubly,
with a pause now and then. It was lonely and sad. The time seemed very
long to Miss Haldi