An incident which happened about this time caused no little comment.
It was an October evening; the inmates of the castle (now properly so called) were assembled at supper in the great hall, after a long day's hunting of the wild boar.
In the middle of the meal, Pierre de Morlaix, who had tarried in the forest, entered, looking as pale as a ghost and very excited in manner, as if some extraordinary event had upset the balance of his mind. It was not without a very apparent effort that, remembering the composure of demeanour exacted by the feudal system from all pages, he repressed his excitement and took his usual place.
The baron, however, had marked his discomposure, and was curious to know its cause.
"Is aught amiss, Pierre?" he asked.
Pierre stammered, hesitated, then replied that there was nothing amiss, only that he believed he had seen a ghost, or something very much like one.
Dead silence fell on all, for the belief in ghosts was universal in that age, as also in witchcraft and sorcery.
"A ghost, silly boy; what ghost? Thy fancy hath converted some white cow into a spectre, in the uncertain light of the evening."
"Nay, I saw him too plainly."
"Saw whom?"