“I do not look tired or worried, François?”
“Not at all, my lord,” replied the obsequious valet. “I never saw you, my lord, appear so young and well.”
“Beneath the surface, François, there is age and weakness,” answered the marquis in a melancholy tone.
“It is but a passing indisposition, my lord,” asserted the servant, soothingly.
“Perhaps. But, François”––peering around––“as I look over my shoulder, do you know what I see?”
The almost hideous expression of the roué’s face alarmed the servant.
“No, my lord, what is it?”
“A figure stands there in black and is touching me. It is the spirit of death, François. You can not see it, but there it is––”
“My lord, you speak wildly.”
“I have seen some strange things, François. The dead have arisen. And I have received my warning. 348 Soon I shall join those dark specters which once gaily traversed this bright world. A little brandy and soda, François.”