This expedient proved quite useless, for there beneath the blankets the raps sounded louder than ever. Moreover, of a sudden the bed seemed to be filled with a cold and unnatural air, which blew all about him, especially upon his hands, though he tried to protect these by placing them under his back. Now Godfrey knew something of the inadequate and clumsy methods affected by alleged communicating spirits, and half automatically began to repeat the alphabet. When he got to the letter I, there was a loud rap. He began again, and at A came another rap. Once more he tried, for something seemed to make him do so, and was stopped at M.
“I am,” he murmured, and recommenced until the word “here” was spelt out, after which came three rapid raps to signify a full stop.
“Who is here?” he asked in his own mind, at the same time determining that he would leave it at that. It was of no use at all, for the other party evidently intended to go on.
There was a perfect rain of raps, on the bed, off the bed, on the floor, even on the jug by the washstand; indeed, he thought that this and other articles were being moved about the room. To stop this multiform assault once more he took refuge in the alphabet, with the result that the raps unmistakably spelt the word “Eleanor.”
“Great Heavens!” he thought to himself, “that dreadful spirit girl here, in my bedroom! How can she? It is most improper, but I don’t suppose she cares a sou for that.”
In his despair and alarm he tucked the clothes tightly round him, and thrusting out his head, said in trembling accents:
“Please go away. You know I never asked you to come, and really it isn’t right,” remarks which he thought, though, like all the rest, this may have been fancy, were followed by a sound of ghostly laughter. What was more, the bedclothes suddenly slipped off him, or—oh horror! perhaps they were pulled off. At any rate, they went, and when next he saw them they were lying in a heap by the side of the bed.
Then it would seem that he fainted, overcome by these terrors, real or imaginary. At any rate, when he opened his eyes again it was to see the daylight creeping into the room (never before had he appreciated so thoroughly the beauties of the dawn) and to find himself lying half frozen on the bed with the pillow, which he was clasping affectionately, for his sole covering.
At breakfast that morning he looked so peculiar and dilapidated, that Madame and Juliette made tender inquiries as to his health, to which he replied that his bedclothes had come off in the night and the cold had given him a chill “in the middle.” They were very sympathetic, and dosed him with hot café-au-lait, but the Pasteur, studying him through the blue spectacles, said, “Ah, is it so?” in a kind of triumphant tone which Madame designated as “bête.” Indeed, to those unacquainted with what was passing in M. Boiset’s mind, it must have seemed particularly stupid.
When breakfast was over he possessed himself of Godfrey, and led him to the observatory, where the stove was already lit, though this was not usual in the daytime, especially on Sundays.