“No, no,” said the danneman, approaching his sister softly; “she is not asleep, she is not fainting; she is saying her prayers, and her soul is in heaven. Do not touch her, do not speak to her until she rises.”
“But how did she get here?” said M. Goefle.
“Oh, as to that,” replied the danneman, “it is a gift she has to go wherever she wishes, and to enter, like the bird of the night, through the cracks of old walls. She goes, without a thought, into places where I have sometimes followed her, recommending my soul to God. For that reason, I am never uneasy when she disappears from the house; I know that there is a virtue in her, and that she cannot fall. But see, she has finished praying within herself! she rises; she is going towards the door. She takes her keys from her belt. Those are keys which she has always kept like relics, and we did not know where they came from—”
“Watch her,” said M. Goefle, “since she does not seem either to see or hear us. What is she doing now?”
“Oh,” said the danneman, “that is a habit that she has, of trying to find a door when she comes up to certain walls. See, she rests the key upon it, and turns it, then she sees that she is mistaken, and goes further on.”
“Ah,” said M. Goefle, “that accounts for the little circles traced on the wall in the bear-room.”
“Can I speak to her?” said Christian, who had approached Karine.
“You can,” replied the danneman; “she will answer you, if your voice pleases her.”
“Karine Bœtsoi,” said Christian, “what are you looking for here?”
“Do not call me Karine Bœtsoi,” she replied; “Karine is dead. I am the vala of ancient days,—she who must not be named!”