Emily interrupted her; “Have you heard no other music since you came to the castle—none last night?”
“Why, did you hear any last night, ma’amselle?”
Emily evaded this question, by repeating her own.
“Why, no, ma’am,” replied Annette; “I never heard any music here, I must say, but the drums and the trumpet; and, as for last night, I did nothing but dream I saw my late lady’s ghost.”
“Your late lady’s,” said Emily in a tremulous voice; “you have heard more, then. Tell me—tell me all, Annette, I entreat; tell me the worst at once.”
“Nay, ma’amselle, you know the worst already.”
“I know nothing,” said Emily.
“Yes, you do, ma’amselle; you know, that nobody knows anything about her; and it is plain, therefore, she is gone, the way of the first lady of the castle—nobody ever knew anything about her.”
Emily leaned her head upon her hand, and was, for some time, silent; then, telling Annette she wished to be alone, the latter left the room.
The remark of Annette had revived Emily’s terrible suspicion, concerning the fate of Madame Montoni; and she resolved to make another effort to obtain certainty on this subject, by applying to Montoni once more.