It was the 22d of February, 1762, and about nine o'clock in the evening, when an ill-clad stranger entered the mill and begged shelter for the night. As was his custom when not occupied in work, Captain D'Haberville was seated in a corner of the room, his head hanging dejectedly on his breast. The voice of the stranger made him tremble without knowing why. It was some moments before he could answer, but at last he said:
"You are welcome, my friend; you shall have supper and breakfast here, and my miller will give you a bed for the night."
"Thank you," said the stranger, "but I am very tired; give me a glass of brandy."
M. D'Haberville was not disposed to bestow upon a vagabond stranger even one drink of the meager supply of brandy, which he was keeping in case of absolute necessity. He answered that he had none.
"If thou didst know me, D'Haberville," replied the stranger, "thou wouldst certainly not refuse me a drink of brandy, though it were the last drop in thy house."
The first feeling of the captain was one of wrath on hearing himself addressed so familiarly by one who appeared to be a tramp; but there was something in the hoarse voice of the unknown which made him tremble anew, and he checked himself. At this moment Blanche appeared with a light, and every one was stupefied at the appearance of this man, a veritable living specter, who stood with folded arms and gazed upon them sadly. So deathlike was his pallor that one would have thought a vampire had sucked all the blood from his veins. His bones threatened to pierce his skin, which was yellow like that of a mummy; and his dim and sunken eyes were vacant—without speculation, like those of the ghost of Banquo. Everybody was astonished that such a corpse could walk.
After one moment of hesitation, Captain D'Haberville threw himself into the stranger's arms, crying:
"You here, my dear Saint-Luc! The sight of my bitterest enemy could not cause me such dismay. Speak; and tell us that all our relations and friends who took passage in the Auguste are buried in the sea, and that you, the one survivor, are come to bring us the sad tidings!"