"Hold, now," said the notary, in a husky voice, with his eyes fixed on an obscure corner of the alcove. "I see already—like a living thing—a shape appearing—there—there!"
And he pointed with his bony finger in the direction of the vision.
"Hush, be quiet, unhappy man!"
"Oh! there, there!"
"Jacques, it is death."
"Oh! I see her," added Ferrand, his teeth set. "There she is! how handsome she is; how handsome! See her long black hair; it floats in disorder upon her shoulders! And her small teeth, which are seen through her half-opened lips: her lips so red and humid! What pearls! Oh! her large eyes seem in turn to sparkle and die. Cecily! Cecily! I adore you!"
"Jacques," cried Polidori, alarmed, "do not excite yourself by these phantoms."
"It is not a phantom."
"Take care; a short time ago, you know, you imagined also that you heard the songs of this woman, and your hearing was suddenly affected by fearful sufferings—take care!"
"Leave me," cried the notary, with impatience, "leave me! Of what use is hearing, except to listen to her?—sight, except to see her?"