“Don’t thtir, my children, and above all thingth, don’t light any candleth, or the devil will come and carry uth off!”
Suddenly the barking of a dog was heard in the yard; it was soon followed by yells from the phantom, who was struggling with the beast and calling the peasants to its assistance.
“Mère Fourcy, call off your dog, for heaven’s sake! What an ugly beast! he’s biting my legs! Come and drive him away, Cézarine!”
That voice, which was recognized as belonging to Virginie, put an end to the terror of the peasants, who began to suspect that they had been fooled by the young ladies from Paris; to put them entirely at ease, the dog pulled off the sheet in which Virginie had enveloped herself, and took in his jaws a lantern which she had placed on her head, wrapping the sheet about it and allowing the light to shine through two small holes.
The dog raced about the room with the lantern, and the light disclosed a ridiculous tableau. The men and women were inextricably commingled, and, even without mischievous intention, the proprieties had not been altogether respected, because, when one is frightened, one conceals oneself as best one can. The position of Cézarine and the tall youth was the most equivocal; but the light of the lantern lighted the room but dimly, and there were many things which there was no time to see. They began by setting free Père Mauflard, who had a table, two benches and three nurses upon him; then the lamp was relighted and they could recognize one another. Amid the tumult Denise had remained quietly in a corner with Coco; but, on hearing Virginie’s shrieks, she flew to her assistance and helped her to rid herself of the sheet in which she was entangled.
“Why! was it you playing ghost?” inquired the young girl.
“Yes, my dear, I thought I’d act a scene from a fairy pantomime for you; and if it hadn’t been for your infernal dog, who jumped at—at the base of my back, while I was giving a groan, I’d have frightened you a great deal worse!”
“Oh! what a pity!” said Cézarine, with a languishing glance at the gawky youth, “it was so nithe! I’m very fond of fairy thenes.”
“Your fairy scene is to blame for my being all bruised up,” said Père Mauflard.
The peasants, offended because they had been made game of, refused to prolong the festivity, and left Mère Fourcy’s house, saying: