leaned upon the tips of
her fingers.

'How very sad--how solemn!' murmured Madame. 'What noble tomb! How triste,
my dear cheaile, your visit 'ere must it be, remembering a so sweet maman.
There is new inscription--is it not new?' And so, indeed, it seemed.

'I am fatigue--maybe you will read it aloud to me slowly and solemnly, my
dearest Maud?'

As I approached, I happened to look, I can't tell why, suddenly, over my
shoulder; I was startled, for Madame was grimacing after me with a vile
derisive distortion. She pretended to be seized with a fit of coughing. But
it would not do: she saw that I had detected her, and she laughed aloud.

'Come here, dear cheaile. I was just reflecting how foolish is all this
thing--the tomb--the epitaph. I think I would 'av none--no, no epitaph. We
regard them first for the oracle of the dead, and find them after only the
folly of the living. So I despise. Do you think your house of Knowl down
there is what you call haunt, my dear?'

'Why?' said I, flushing and growing pale again. I felt quite afraid of
Madame, and confounded at the suddenness of all this.

'Because Anne Wixted she says there is ghost. How dark is this place! and
so many of the Ruthyn family they are buried here--is not so? How high and
thick are the trees all round! and nobody comes near.'

And Madame rolled her eyes awfully, as if she expected to see something
unearthly, and, indeed, looked very like it herself.

'Come away, Madame,' I said, growing frightened, and feeling that if I were
once, by any accident, to give way to the panic that was gathering round
me, I should instantaneously lose all control of myself. 'Oh, come away!
do, Madame--I'm frightened.'

'No, on the contrary, sit here by me. It is very odd, you will think, ma
chere--un gout bizarre, vraiment!--but I love very much to be near to the
dead people--in solitary place like this. I am not afraid of the dead
people, nor of the ghosts. 'Av you ever see a ghost, my dear?'

'Do, Madame, _pray_ speak of something else.'

'Wat little fool! But no, you are not afraid. I 'av seen the ghosts myself.
I saw one, for example, last night, shape like a monkey, sitting in the
corner, with his arms round his knees; very wicked, old, old man his face
was like, and white eyes so large.'

'Come away, Madame! you are trying to frighten me,' I said, in the childish
anger which accompanies fear. Madame laughed an ugly laugh, and said--

'Eh bien! little fool!--I