He then took his leave. I spent the remainder of the day reflecting on the desperate enterprise that I had planned for the night, and fortifying my mind by recalling all the hazardous escapes of other heroines.
At last the momentous hour was at hand. The lamp and snuff-box lay on the table. I sat anxious, and kept a watchful eye upon the picture.
The bell tolled one, again the picture vanished, and again the spectre stood there. Its left thumb rested upon its hip, and its right hand was held to the heavens. I sent forth a well-executed shriek, and hid my face in my hands, while it spoke these words:
'I come to thee for the last time. Wilt thou wed Montmorenci, or wilt thou not?—Speak.'
'Oh!' cried I, 'if you would only promise not to do me a mischief, I have something particular to ask of you.'
'A spirit cannot harm a mortal,' drawled out the spectre.
'Well then,' said I, faltering and trembling.—'Perhaps—pardon me—perhaps you would first have the goodness to walk in.'
The spectre advanced a few paces, and paused.
'This is so kind, so condescending,' said I, 'that really—do take a chair.'
The spectre shook its head mournfully.