Mitaine had put on a suit of mail, and she congratulated herself on wearing her gauntlets, as she stooped down to seize hold of the reptile. She grasped a round and flexible object, and was about to crush it under her heel, when she discovered that what she had taken for a serpent was only a creeper, which broke in her hand. For an instant she felt ashamed.
“This is the’ result of all the stories I have been so long listening: to about this absurd castle. If people had not tried to frighten me, I should not even have stooped down.” And she continued her route.
The moon flung her rays over the forest, and Mitaine beheld in the distance a number of white menacing shapes. Some had burst their shrouds, and allowed their skeleton forms to be seen, clattering at every breath of air; others displayed fearful wounds, in which the weapons yet remained; fleshless arms stretched towards her, and the wind bore to her indistinct and threatening murmurs. She allowed herself to be betrayed into a gesture of alarm; immediately the spectres shook their dishevelled hair, waved their arms, and began to move towards her. She saw them approaching in countless numbers, with menacing aspect and hollow meanings.
“By Roland!” said she, “I believe I’m a little frightened. My godfather would blush for me if he knew it.” She drew her sword, and rushed on.
Hardly had the sense of alarm left her, when the appearance of all she saw was changed. The spectres vanished, and Mitaine saw before her only a few bleached tree trunks, on which the moon shed its rays. Instead of wounds, she saw inequalities of the bark; instead of outstretched arms, she saw branches; instead of unkempt locks, leaves; while in the place of threatening murmurs she heard only the wail of the wind.
“I’m evidently growing foolish,” said she to herself; “I have lost my head, and my brain to-night is full of spectres. I must not let myself be caught again.”
