Emerenzia, therefore, sent the girl to her mistress. When her work was finished the bell rang again, the book appeared, and the companion went to the countess. After a short time she returned, and opened the door for the pastor, while she whispered to him softly—
"She has seen the spirits again; she has much to tell you."
We will follow the pastor into his penitent's room; but no one need be afraid that he or she is about to listen to the lady's confession. When the pastor had closed the door behind him, he came to the countess, who sat in a large armchair, looking pale and exhausted. She signed to the priest to take his place in another armchair opposite to her.
"Have you seen them again?" he asked.
"I have," said the countess, in an awed whisper. "All happened in the same way as usual. So soon as the clock-tower had sounded midnight, there rose from below, as if out of the vault, a fearful chorus of voices intoning the De Profundis. It was a ghostly, terrible sound. I could distinguish the solo of the celebrant, the antiphon, the chorus; and between them loud laughter, diabolical words, the shrieks of women, and the clatter of glasses. I heard comic songs accompanied by wild howls; then, again, the soft, pious hymn succeeded by the wild disorder. I pinched my arm to see did I dream. Here you can see the mark. 'Twas not dreaming. I got up; I wished to convince myself that I was awake. I took my pencil and note-paper, and when a distinct tune reached my ear I wrote it down. Here is the paper. You understand music."
The priest threw a hasty glance over the ghostly melody, and recognized a well-known Hungarian volkslied—"Maiden with the black eyes, let me taste thy lips." Undoubtedly an unclean song to issue from the family vault at midnight!
"And, gracious countess, have you never heard the peasants singing this in the fields?"
The countess drew herself up with dignity. "Do I frequent the places where peasants sing?" she made answer; and then continued her story. "These notes are sufficient proof that I was awake; my nerves were too excited to allow me to sleep again. Moreover, I was drawn by an invincible desire to go to the spot from whence the sound came. I dressed myself. I am certain that I took out my grass-green skirt of Gros de Naples, with a flounce of cashmere. I called none of my servants; every one in the house was asleep. An extraordinary courage awoke in me. Quite alone I descended the steps which lead to the family vault. When I reached the door both sides opened of themselves; I entered, and found myself in the presence of my departed ancestors. The monuments were all removed, the niches empty; the occupiers of both sat round the long table which stands in the vault, in the identical dress in which they are painted in the portraits which hang in the hall, and by which their calling in life is distinguishable. My great-uncle, the archbishop, in full canonicals, celebrated mass before the requiem altar; my grandfather, the chancellor, had large parchment documents before him, upon which he affixed the state seal. My great-uncle, the field-marshal, in armor, and with the marshal's baton in his hand, gave orders. My ancestress Katherine, who was a lady of the court, and of remarkable beauty, rolled her eyes about, and in her whole face no feature moved but those glittering eyes; and my aunt Clementina, the abbess of the Ursuline Convent, sang psalms with my uncle, in which the others from time to time joined."
"But the laughter, the tumult, the comic songs?" asked the pastor.
"I am coming to that. At the other end of the table sat some of my more distant relatives—my young cousin Clarissa, who danced herself to death; and a cousin, who was a celebrated flute player; and my great-uncle Otto, who was devoted to hazard, and now rattled dice into a copper goblet, and cursed his bad-luck when he made a bad throw; also another cousin, who died on the very night of her marriage, and still wore a faded wedding wreath; finally, my uncle Ladislaus, who was banished from the family circle early in the century, and whose frame hangs in the picture-gallery empty, his portrait being removed."