But fear had rendered their minds inaccessible to
reason; and it was now, that Ludovico proved at once his courage and
his gratitude for the kindness he had received from the Count, by
offering to watch, during a night, in the suite of rooms, reputed to be
haunted. He feared, he said, no spirits, and, if anything of human form
appeared—he would prove that he dreaded that as little. The Count paused upon the offer, while the servants, who heard it,
looked upon one another in doubt and amazement, and Annette, terrified
for the safety of Ludovico, employed tears and entreaties to dissuade
him from his purpose. “You are a bold fellow,” said the Count, smiling, “Think well of what
you are going to encounter, before you finally determine upon it. However, if you persevere in your resolution, I will accept your offer,
and your intrepidity shall not go unrewarded.”

“I desire no reward, your _Excellenza_,” replied Ludovico, “but your
approbation. Your _Excellenza_ has been sufficiently good to me
already; but I wish to have arms, that I may be equal to my enemy, if
he should appear.”

“Your sword cannot defend you against a ghost,” replied the Count,
throwing a glance of irony upon the other servants, “neither can bars,
nor bolts; for a spirit, you know, can glide through a keyhole as
easily as through a door.”

“Give me a sword, my lord Count,” said Ludovico, “and I will lay all
the spirits, that shall attack me, in the red sea.”

“Well,” said the Count, “you shall have a sword, and good cheer, too;
and your brave comrades here will, perhaps, have courage enough to
remain another night in the château, since your boldness will
certainly, for this night, at least, confine all the malice of the
spectre to yourself.”

Curiosity now struggled with fear in the minds of several of his fellow
servants, and, at length, they resolved to await the event of
Ludovico’s rashness. Emily was surprised and concerned, when she heard of his intention, and
was frequently inclined to mention what she had witnessed in the north
apartments to the Count, for she could not entirely divest herself of
fears for Ludovico’s safety, though her reason represented these to be
absurd. The necessity, however, of concealing the secret, with which
Dorothée had entrusted her, and which must have been mentioned, with
the late occurrence, in excuse for her having so privately visited the
north apartments, kept her entirely silent on the subject of her
apprehension; and she tried only to sooth Annette, who held, that
Ludovico was certainly to be destroyed; and who was much less affected
by Emily’s consolatory efforts, than by the manner of old Dorothée, who
often, as she exclaimed Ludovico, sighed, and threw up her eyes to
heaven. CHAPTER VI

Ye gods of quiet, and of sleep profound! Whose soft dominion o’er this castle sways,
And all the widely-silent places round,
Forgive me, if my trembling pen displays
What never yet was sung in mortal lays. THOMSON


The Count gave orders for the north apartments to be opened and
prepared for the reception of Ludovico; but Dorothée, remembering what
she had lately witnessed there, feared to obey, and, not one of the
other servants daring to venture thither, the rooms remained shut up
till the time when Ludovico was to retire thither for the night, an
hour, for which the whole household waited with impatience. After supper, Ludovico, by the order of the Count, attended him in his
closet, where they remained alone for near half an hour, and, on
leaving which, his Lord delivered to him a sword. “It has seen service in mortal quarrels,” said the Count, jocosely,
“you will use it honourably, no doubt, in a spiritual one. Tomorrow,
let me hear that there is not one ghost remaining in the château.”

Ludovico received it with a respectful bow. “You shall be obeyed, my
Lord,” said he; “I will engage, that no spectre shall disturb the peace
of the château after this night.”

They now returned to the supper-room, where the Count’s guests awaited
to accompany him and Ludovico to the door of the north apartments, and
Dorothée, being summoned for the keys, delivered them to Ludovico, who
then led the way, followed by most of the inhabitants of the château. Having reached the back staircase, several of the servants shrunk back,
and refused to go further, but the rest followed him to the top of the
staircase, where a broad landing-place allowed them to flock round him,
while he applied the key to the door, during which they watched him
with as much eager curiosity as if he had been performing some magical
rite. Ludovico, unaccustomed to the lock, could not turn it, and Dorothée,
who had lingered far behind, was called forward, under whose hand the
door opened slowly, and, her eye glancing within the dusky chamber, she
uttered a sudden shriek, and retreated. At this signal of alarm, the
greater part of the crowd hurried down the stairs, and the Count, Henri
and Ludovico were left alone to pursue the enquiry, who instantly
rushed into the apartment, Ludovico with a drawn sword, which he had
just time to draw from the scabbard, the Count with the lamp in his
hand, and Henri carrying a basket, containing provisions for the
courageous adventurer. Having looked hastily round the first room, where nothing appeared to
justify alarm, they passed on to the second; and, here too all being
quiet, they proceeded to a third with a more tempered step. The Count
had now leisure to smile at the discomposure, into which he had been
surprised, and to ask Ludovico in which room he designed to pass the
night. “There are several chambers beyond these, your _Excellenza_,” said
Ludovico, pointing to a door, “and in one of them is a bed, they say. I
will pass the night there, and when I am weary of watching, I can lie
down.”

“Good;” said the Count; “let us go on. You see these rooms show
nothing, but damp walls and decaying furniture. I have been so much
engaged since I came to the château, that I have not looked into them
till now. Remember, Ludovico, to tell the housekeeper, tomorrow, to
throw open these windows. The damask hangings are dropping to pieces, I
will have them taken down, and this antique furniture removed.”

“Dear sir!” said Henri, “here is an arm-chair so massy with gilding,
that it resembles one of the state chairs at the Louvre, more then
anything else.”

“Yes,” said the Count, stopping a moment to survey it, “there is a
history belonging to that chair, but I have not time to tell it.—Let us
pass on. This suite runs to a greater extent than I had imagined; it is
many years since I was in them. But where is the bedroom you speak of,
Ludovico?—these are only ante-chambers to the great drawing-room. I
remember them in their splendour!”

“The bed, my Lord,” replied Ludovico, “they told me, was in a room that
opens beyond the saloon, and terminates the suite.”

“O, here is the saloon,” said the Count, as they entered the spacious
apartment, in which Emily and Dorothée had rested.