“Missié, ess ou tanne?” [Monsieur, est-ce que vous entendez?]
The moaners continued to moan,—always in crescendo: then there were sudden screams,—“Madame!”—“Manzell!”—and running of bare feet, and sounds of lamps being lighted, and, at last, a general clamor of frightened voices. I rose, and groped for the matches. The moans and the clamor ceased.
“Missié,” my man asked again, “ess ou tè oué y?” [Monsieur, est-ce que vous l’avez vue?]
—“Ça ou le di?” [Qu’est-ce que vous voulez dire?] I responded in bewilderment, as my fingers closed on the match-box.
—“Fenm-là?” he answered.... That Woman?
The question shocked me into absolute immobility. Then I wondered if I could have understood. But he went on in his patois, as if talking to himself:—
—“Tall, tall—high like this room, that Zombi. When She came the floor cracked. I heard—I saw.”
After a moment, I succeeded in lighting a candle, and I went to the door. It was still locked,—double-locked. No human being could have entered through the high window.