'The devil! My dear mademoiselle, do not think of such things: yet I would rather face the robbers than the wolves.'
'Indeed! do you hold your life a thing of little price?'
'Nay; I hold it, dear Nicola, exactly at the value your interest in me gives it.'
'A very pretty compliment, M. Blane; but do not press my hand so, pray: and ah, my heaven! there is lightning coming to increase our annoyances! Moreover, this forest is haunted!'
'By what?'
'A spectre.'
'The deuce, mademoiselle! a real spectre?'
'Yes.'
'Come now, Nicola!'
'A tall, lean, ghastly man with a dreadful visage.'