"You liked this story?" said the old man to Vranic, as soon as he had finished.
"Yes," replied the tailor, thinking of the ghastly, livid corpse, with grinning, gaping mouth, and glassy, goggle eyes, galloping after the priest, and wondering whether she was like the vampire. "Yes, it's an interesting story, but rather gruesome."
"Well, but it's only a story, and, whether ghastly or lively, it's only words, which—as the proverb says—are evanescent as soap-bubbles. Now," continued he, "if you want to go off to sleep, look at this," and he gave him a bit of cardboard, on which were traced several circles; "look at it till you see all these rings wheeling round. When they disappear, you'll be asleep."
The old man put the bit of cardboard before Vranic, who leaned his elbows on the table and his head between the palms of his hands, and stared at the drawing. Five minutes afterwards he was fast asleep.
When he awoke the next morning, his head was not only aching, but his weakness had so much increased that he had hardly strength enough to stand on his feet. He, therefore, made up his mind to go to the parish priest, and lay the whole matter before him.
Priests are everywhere but fetich men; therefore, if they have burnt witches for using charms and philters, it is simply because these women trespassed on their own domains, and were more successful than they themselves. Of what use would a priest be if he could not pray for rain, give little sacré cœur bits of flannel as talismans against pestilence, or brass medals to scare away the devil? A priest who can do nothing for us here below, must and will soon fall into discredit. The hereafter is so vague and indefinite that it cannot inspire us with half the interest the present does.
The priest whom Vranic consulted was of the same opinion as the tailor. He, too, believed that probably his brother had become a vampire, who nightly left the tomb to go and suck his blood. For his own sake, as well as for that of the whole town, it would be well to exorcise the ghost. The matter, however, had to be kept a profound secret, as the Government had put its veto on vampire-killing, and looked upon all such practices as illegal.
It was, therefore, agreed that Vranic, together with his relations and some friends, should go to the curate's about ten o'clock at night; there the curate would be waiting for them with another priest; from there the little party would stealthily proceed to the cemetery where the ceremony was to be held.
The Friday fixed upon arrived. The night was dark, the weather sultry; a storm had been brooding in the heavy clouds overhead and was now ready to burst every moment.
As soon as the muffled people got to the gate of the burying-ground the mortuary chapel was opened to them by the sexton. The priests put on their officiating robes, recited several orisons appropriate to the occasion; then, with the Cross carried before them, bearing a holy-water sprinkler in their hands, followed by Vranic and his friends—all with blessed tapers—they went up to the murdered man's tomb. The priest then bade the sexton dig up the earth and bring out the coffin.