“Th—there—in that room—just at the door, I seemed to see a ghost!”
“Whose ghost?” asked Velchaninoff, pausing a minute before putting the question.
“Natalia Vasilievna's!”
Velchaninoff jumped out of bed and walked to the door, whence he could see into the room opposite, across the passage. There were no curtains in that room, so that it was much lighter than his own.
“There's nothing there at all. You are drunk; lie down again!” he said, and himself set the example, rolling his blanket around him.
Pavel Pavlovitch said nothing, but lay down as he was told.
“Did you ever see any ghosts before?” asked Velchaninoff suddenly, ten minutes later.
“I think I saw one once,” said Pavel Pavlovitch in the same low voice; after which there was silence once more. Velchaninoff was not sure whether he had been asleep or not, but an hour or so had passed, when suddenly he was wide awake again. Was it a rustle that awoke him? He could not tell; but one thing was evident—in the midst of the profound darkness of the room something white stood before him; not quite close to him, but about the middle of the room. He sat up in bed, and stared for a full minute.
“Is that you, Pavel Pavlovitch?” he asked. His voice sounded very weak.
There was no reply; but there was not the slightest doubt of the fact that someone was standing there.