rowne impressively.

She seemed to expect me to say something, so I said Indeed.

'That on the left is by Rauch,' said the guide.

'And this cat does not do anything. I mean, it is not prophetic of
impending family disaster. It simply walks across a certain room--the
drawing-room, I believe--quite like a real cat, and nothing happens.'

'But perhaps it is a real cat?'

'Oh no, it is supernatural. No one sees it but herself. It walks quite
slowly with its tail up in the air, and once when she went up to it to
try to pull its tail so as to convince herself of its existence, she
only clutched empty air.'

'The frescoes with which this apartment is adorned are by Kolbe and
Eybel,' said the guide.

'You mean it ran away?'

'No, it walked on quite deliberately. But the tail not being made of
human flesh and blood there was naturally nothing to pull.'

'Beginning from left to right, we have in the first a representation of
the entry of King Waldemar I. into Ruegen,' said the guide.

'But the most extraordinary thing about it happened one day when she put
a saucer of cream on the floor for it. She had thought it all over in
the night, and had come to the conclusion that as no ghost would lap
cream and no real cat be able to help lapping it this would provide her
with a decisive proof one way or the other. The cat came, saw the cream,
and immediately lapped it up. My friend was so pleased, because of
course one likes real cats best----'

'The second represents the introduction of Christianity into the
island,' said the guide.

'--and when it had done, and the saucer was empty, she went over to
it----'

'The third represents the laying of the foundation stone of the church
at Vilmnitz,' said the guide.

'--and what do you think happened? _She walked straight through it_.'

'Through what?' I asked, profoundly interested. 'The cream, or the cat?'

'Ah, that was what was so marvellous. She walked right through the body
of the cat. Now what had become of the cream?'

I confess this story impressed me more than any ghost story I have ever
heard; the disappearance of the cream was so extraordinary.

'And there was nothing--nothing at all left on her dress?' I asked
eagerly. 'I mean, after walking through the cat? One would have thought
that some, at least, of the cream----'

'Not a vestige.'

I stood gazing at the bishop's wife absorbed in reflection. 'How truly
strange,' I murmured at length, after having vain