t is a
little too bad to take you for a _revenant_; don't you think so?"

"Perhaps," the Count replied; "I really may have something more or less
ghostly about me. A good deal is being said nowadays, about people who,
by virtue of some peculiar psychical quality, possess the power of
influencing others, so that they experience very remarkable effects. I
may be endowed with such a power."

"You are not serious, my dear Count," said Madame von G. "But there is
no doubt that people are discovering very wonderful mysteries
nowadays."

"People are pampering their curiosity, and weakening their minds over
nursery tales and absurd fancies," was the Count's reply. "We ought all
to take care not to allow ourselves to be infected by this curious
epidemic. However, I interrupted this gentleman at the most interesting
point of his story, and as none of his hearers would like to lose the
finale, the explanation of the mystery, I would beg him to go on with
it."

To Captain Moritz this stranger Count was not only uncomfortable and
uncanny, but utterly repugnant, in all the depths of his being. In his
words he found--all the more that he gave them out with a most
irritating, self-satisfied smile--something indescribably contemptuous
and insulting; and he replied, in an irritated tone, and with flashing
eyes, that he feared his nursery tales might interfere with the
pleasantness--the sense of enjoyment--which the Count had introduced
into the circle, so that he would prefer to say no more.

The Count seemed scarcely to notice what Moritz said. Playing with the
gold snuff-box which he had taken in his hand, he asked Madame von
G---- if the "lively" young lady was French. He meant Marguerite, who
kept dancing about the room, trilling. The Colonel went up to her and
asked her, half aloud, if she had gone out of her senses. Marguerite
slunk, abashed, to the tea-table, and sat down there quite quiet. The
Count now took up the conversation, and spoke, in an entertaining
manner, of this and the other events which had recently happened.
Dagobert was scarcely able to put in a word. Moritz stood, red as fire,
with gleaming eyes, as if waiting eagerly for the signal of attack.
Angelica appeared to be completely immersed in the piece of feminine
"work" at which she had set herself to labour. She did not raise an
eyelid. The company separated in complete discomfort.

"You are a fortunate man," Dagobert cried, when he and Moritz were
alone t